


Letters T.M.I.

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-16
Updated: 2002-03-16
Packaged: 2018-11-20 21:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11343486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: It wasn't the squeal of tires Doggett was unable to get out of his head. It wasn't  his sister's scream, and it wasn't the blast of the car horn. It was the noise Walt's body made when it hit the tarmac. That was the sound that echoed in his mind as he sat with his head in his hands and his ass in a cold plastic chair in the hospital corridor. He'd be hearing that sound in his dreams.





	Letters T.M.I.

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Letters T.M.I.

## Letters T.M.I.

#### by forbes

Title: Letters T.M.I.  
Author: forbes  
Feedback to:   
Author's Website:   
Date Archived: 03/16/02  
Category: Unclassified     
Pairing: Skinner/Doggett         
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers:   
Permission to Archive:   
Series or Sequel/Prequel: Continuation of the 'Letters' stories. (this comes after Letters : 'D', 'F', 'OMG' and Pray'.)  
Notes: Okay, so I give up. I am taking the liberty of changing something here - I'm fed up with Scully's pregnancy and I really can't be arsed to doing the whole 'giving birth' thing, so in the time-honoured tradition of artistic license, I am removing it from my world. Sorry if that upsets anyone, but frankly, I don't care. I never intended to do more than one story - things kind of got away from me, and I found myself stuck with the whale-like Scully I wrote in the first tale. But no more! She is without child. Get over it.Thank you to Amokeh for prodding my imagination in such a delightful way! And Georgia did her usual great job with the beta! (BTW - small reference to 'Shelob' from Lord of the Rings. For those not familiar, Shelob is a huge, malevolant spider that sucks the life from helpless creatures.)  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Mostly belongs to 1013.  
Summary: It wasn't the squeal of tires Doggett was unable to get out of his head. It wasn't his sister's scream, and it wasn't the blast of the car horn. It was the noise Walt's body made when it hit the tarmac. That was the sound that echoed in his mind as he sat with his head in his hands and his ass in a cold plastic chair in the hospital corridor. He'd be hearing that sound in his dreams.

* * *

chapter 1. 

Leaning one arm on the ledge of the truck window, Doggett cranked the CD player up to number eight and let the sound of the music drown out the white noise in his head. It was amazing how quickly a man could pack a bag, water the houseplants and tidy up if he ignored the ringing of the phone and didn't stop to write a note. Cowardly, but then he had been surprising himself with his actions ever since the night of the Eros club. Why should running away be any different? 

He glanced as a big rig passed by him, the rush of warm air blasting through his hair and shot up the arm of his tee shirt to caress his chest. He grinned. That felt good. Springsteen on the deck, wind in his hair and pushing the limit in a shiny GMC. Simple pleasures. 

He snatched a look at his watch. If he put his foot down, he could maybe make the motel by nightfall. Catch a few hours, then be up and at 'em at first light. He'd called his Ma from the last motel and made her day by telling her he was on his way. Least he'd make someone happy before the shit hit the fan. And maybe he'd luck out and never have to tell them the real reason he was visiting them. Doggett tapped his hand in time to the music and began to sing along. Sounded like a pretty good plan. With the music up this loud, he didn't have to think about what he was doing. 

* * *

chapter 2. 

"...And he didn't say where he was going?" Skinner folded his arms over his chest, trying his best not to let the hurt show on his face. 

"I'm sorry, Walt." Scully spread her hands helplessly. "He's been very touchy the last few days, but I had no idea he was going to take off." She handed Skinner a mug. 

"None what so ever." 

She smiled sympathetically, knowing she wasn't helping at all, but feeling for the distraught man in her lounge. He'd turned up on her doorstep in a state that she thought she'd never see in her stoic boss. Certainly not over another man. Strange enough that he should come to her, but even more disconcerting, was the fact that it was clear he hadn't shaved that day, or even slept very well the night before, by the look of it. A rumpled, disheveled Walter Skinner slumped on her sofa was an image she never thought she'd see. And it upset her more than she would have imagined. She sighed and sat down opposite. 

"And no note?" 

He shook his head, miserably. 

She ducked her head down to look in his face. 

"You looked everywhere?" 

He nodded. "No note." 

Scully winced. Those two words cut into her. She could imagine how was feeling. If Doggett had set out to hurt Skinner deliberately, then he couldn't have done a better job. And she'd kick his skinny ass, if that turned out to be true. 

"So when did you last see him?" Skinner asked, looking up from his lap. 

"Yesterday lunchtime." She pulled a slight face. "I won't say we had words, but he was sharp with me and I kind of cold-shouldered him for a while." She shrugged. 

"Next thing I know he's gone. Gotten up from his desk and slipped out, without so much as a goodbye." 

She sipped her hot chocolate. 

"Must say I was surprised. It's not like him to be rude." Skinner nodded absently, agreeing with her. 

Scully wound her fingers round her mug and nibbled her bottom lip. The question had to be asked, never mind how embarrassing it was. 

"Did you and Doggett..." She hesitated. Skinner looked up. 

"Did you and John... You know, get into a fight?" She felt the blush rush into her face. Skinner's face contorted. "No. That's what I don't understand." He held his hands out in a touchingly vulnerable gesture. "I thought things were going okay." He looked away, searching her bookshelves for more words. 

Scully nodded encouragement. "Go on." 

Skinner sighed. he shook his head. 

"Things were good, Scully." He gave a little shrug. "You know. Between the two of us. God knows I'm no walking ad for relationships..." He gave a wry smile, blushing. 

"But I really thought we were okay..." He trailed off, looking down at his hands. Neither of them spoke. 

"I know he was kind of blindsided by this whole thing," he smiled again, raising an eyebrow. "Made two of us, to tell the truth. But..." He sighed. "I had no idea he felt like throwing the towel in. Giving it all up. Giving us..." 

Scully leaned forward before he could finish his strangled sentence. 

"Walt?" She stretched to touch the back of one large hand. 

"You know, it might not have anything to do with you. With the two of you." 

He looked up, frowning. 

"Maybe it's something at work..." She winced. That was lame. They both knew it. There was nothing going on that was out of the ordinary, or even came close to moving out of deadly boring, at the moment. She cleared her throat. "Or maybe there's something in his personal life." 

Skinner grunted. 

"I thought I was his 'personal life'." 

Scully shook her head. "I meant his family. Sal, or something." Rubbing his hand over the top of his head, Skinner sighed. 

"No. He would have said." 

Skinner was right. He would have said. 

The silence stretched between them, as they both tried to second-guess John Doggett. 

* * *

chapter 3. 

Two days earlier, in the FBI Gym. 

It was official. It was driving him nuts. Doggett knew he was getting over-sensitive about the situation. He could feel himself snipping and sniping at silly little things. To his shame, he'd found himself snapping at Scully over some dumb form or other. 

"What on earth's wrong, John?" she'd asked. 

"Nothin'," he snapped back, throwing a folder across his desk, instantly ashamed of his behaviour, but unable to stop himself. 

"Fine," Scully said and returned to her own files, ignoring him for the rest of the afternoon. He supposed it was no more than he deserved. 

It was all well and good that he and Mulder had supposedly reached a 'new level' of understanding concerning his relationship with Walt, but this new-found 'understanding' was pushing his temper to the limits. And whether or not Mulder was embarking on this new improved gesture of friendship through a misplaced sense of pity, altruism or just downright sexual curiosity, he seemed to be under Doggett's feet more than usual. And it was driving him nuts. Lunch-times magically co-incided, visits to the fourth floor were conducted in tandem; shit, the other man even started going home at the same time as him. Suppose he should be grateful he wasn't followed to the john. Although that was probably only a matter of time. 

Doggett sighed and returned the hand-held weights to their rack. Seemed that whenever he turned around just lately, he found a Mulder-shaped shadow at his heels. And paranoiac or not, he couldn't help but think that until that gut-churning revelation at Scully's place, he wouldn't have thought twice about Mulder's propensity to keep him company. He frowned. Until he realized with sickening certainty, that the other agent had more than a passing interest in him. In his body. Shit. 

He sat up on the bench press. Talk about too much information. He rubbed his hands over his eyes. It was no good. He couldn't concentrate. Probably end up dropping the bar on his throat or somethin' dumb. The whole situation made him very uncomfortable, truth be known. Funny, he could handle it, imagining that Mulder was interested in Walt, but turn the tables and he floundered. 

"Ignore him," Skinner had said and laughed, hugging him. He'd thought the whole thing a laugh-riot. Not only that Doggett had been so utterly mistaken, but that he was so horrified by the very idea. 

"I won't let the nasty Mulder get you," he'd chuckled, until Doggett had shut him up by shoving his tongue in his mouth. 

Jesus! All well and good to be popular, but couldn't life have cut him a break and given him Anna Kournikova as an admirer, or something? Even Walt could appreciate her. He grinned to himself. There was a thought. They could appreciate her together. The grin drooped. No... He had to get the human freak as a pet. Thank you God. Mulder everywhere, with that insatiable curiosity flickering in his big, round eyes. And always the same questions hidden in them. Do you? Would you? Can I? It gave him the fucking heebie-jeebies. Thank God it was nearly the weekend. He needed the break. One more day to get through and he was out of here. 

Grabbing his towel, he strode towards the changing rooms. 

"Had enough, John?" Morris from the third floor laughed from a ski-ing machine. 

"You bet." 

"Can't take it like you used to?" 

Doggett rolled his eyes. "Ain't that the truth." 

"Sign of getting old, man." 

Flipping him, Doggett smiled and kicked his water bottle over. "Sign this." 

Morris' rich expletives followed him into the changing area. 

Quick wash-up and back home. It was Walt's turn to get supper. And with any luck, it'd be Thai. Or maybe Chinese. Either was good. 

Stripping quickly out of his gym clothes, Doggett snatched up his towel and picked his way over the wet floor into the showers, humming softly to himself. He cranked the shower on and stuck his head under. That felt good. At least the good old Government sprang for decent facilities for its workers. He reached for a squirt of soap. This stuff might be one step up from the cheapest Walmart soap, but it was better than nothing, he thought as he rubbed it into his hair. Meant he wouldn't go home to Walt smelling like a jock. He worked up a lather, humming away, pleased by the acoustics in the shower room. 

Maybe he was just getting touchy in his old age. It wasn't as if Mulder had ever laid a hand on him. It was hard to define a 'look' as harassment. And even harder not to look a complete shit for brains for accusing someone of 'looking'. At least he'd stopped with the comments. That, at least was a blessing. Perhaps if he pretended he didn't know what was on Mulder's mind. Do like Walt said and ignore him. Yeah, he thought, feeling the pound of the shower on his head. That'd do it. 

"Hi." 

The voice made him jump. Shit! It wasn't locker-room practise to make conversation in the showers. Who the hell would... The answer grinned at him through a veil of soap suds. Mulder. Fucking typical. Wouldn't you just know it? 

"Good work-out?" 

Doggett swept a hand over his face, wiping away the foam. 

"What?" he screwed up his eyes. Shit... he'd gotten soap in them. He hated that. He scrubbed his fingers in his sockets, trying to scratch the burning away. Mulder's voice piped up again. 

"Good sets?" 

Doggett sputtered water and opened his stinging eyes. Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Did he hear that right? Good sex? What the fuck?? He spat a mouthful of water out. 

"What d'you say?" 

Through a stinging mist of shower gel, he saw Mulder tilted his head towards the gym. "Good work-out? Sets?" 

Oh. Doggett tried to get his breathing under control. Sets. He wiped at his eyes, feeling more water trickling into them. 

"Yeah," he said shortly, turning back to face the wall, refusing to look at the other man. Yeah. He'd ignore him. Try not to let the fact that he knew what was on Mulder's mind, freak him out. The fact that Mulder was naked had not eluded him, any more than the fact he was equally nude. He resisted the temptation to turn his back on the other man. He would finish washing and go. And it'd be the fastest fucking wash in the history of the world. 

But the God of Mortification wasn't going to let him off that easily. 

"Saw Holly this morning. She said to say 'hi'." 

Doggett grunted. He swiped at his underarms, eyes screwed up, jaw clenched. 

"I think she likes you." 

Mulder was grinning. He didn't need to be looking his way to know that. 

"Oh," he said, no more interested in prolonging the conversation than he was in Holly. One more rinse and he was out of here. 

"Guess what? She even asked if you were 'available'." A snicker of laughter from the next shower head. 

Fuck. That was it. Reaching out to flick off the water, Doggett turned to stare at Mulder. 

"An' you said what, precisely?" Water was dripping off his nose and chin, on to his chest. He watched Mulder's eyes tracking the drops. Heebie-jeebies... Angry, Doggett slapped the tiles next to the faucet. 

"Muldah!" 

Hazel eyes refocussed. 

"What?" 

Making a winding motion with his other hand, Doggett nodded. 

"You said..." 

Grinning, Mulder shook the water from his hair. "Easy, Doggett," he laughed. 

"I'm on your side, remember?" 

On my back, more like. And on my nerves. He watched as Mulder's tongue flicked out and gathered up moisture from his bottom lip. That pouty, pooched-out bottom lip. 

"Oh yeah?" Doggett asked him, sarcastically. 

"Uh-huh..." 

Mulder's mind wasn't on the conversation, that much was obvious. 

"Mulder..." 

Doggett took a step nearer, without thinking. 

Mulder's eyes flickered back down to his chest. Then quickly went lower. 

Doggett clenched his jaw. Shit. Didn't think that one through. 

"Mulder," he said, very quietly, lips barely moving. "Look at me." Mulder nodded. 

"Look at my face," Doggett amended, fighting the urge to blush and/or punch. 

"Huh?" 

Doggett stepped nearer. It was too fucking close for comfort, but it meant that Mulder couldn't look down now without stepping back. 

"I don't need you on my side, y'hear? I can take care of whatever needs to be taken care of. I'm a big boy." 

Shit. He wanted to snatch the words back the instant they came out of his mouth. He watched Mulder's gaze sliding. Over his face, down his neck and... No way. 

"Hey!" Hooking a finger under Mulder's chin and yanking it up, Doggett glared into his face. "It's bad manners to do that." 

Wide-eyed innocence. "Do what?" 

Doggett's jaw spasmed. 

"You know what," he growled. 

Mulder's head shook slightly on his finger. "No. What?" 

Teasing? Or was he testing? Doggett narrowed his eyes. 

"Stare." 

Mulder smirked. "Shy?" 

Doggett felt his other hand balling up into a fist. He would not hit Mulder... He would not... Scully would hurt him if he damaged her precious freak. 

"Muldah..." he growled. 

The chin on his finger jerked as Mulder laughed. 

"You're doing it again! Growling at me!" 

He shook his head, droplets of water peppering Doggett's face. 

He flinched. 

Mulder wagged a finger between them. 

"You really should learn to control yourself, Doggett." 

Staring into the laughing face, feeling the water on his bare skin, something tight began to unravel inside Doggett's chest. 

"Control? You talkin' to me about control?" he growled, not caring that Mulder made fun of the way he spoke. He leaned in, nose to nose, taking vicious pleasure in watching the grin falter on the other's face. 

"How 'bout you learn some control, Fox." 

Mulder swallowed. 

Doggett was standing so close that he could feel the warmth from the other man's skin, feel the huff of his breath. Which if he wasn't very much mistaken, was starting to speed up. 

"Well?" he demanded. 

Mulder swallowed again, unsure. "What?" 

"You in control, now, Fox?" Doggett asked softly, knowing the answer. 

Mulder shifted slightly, almost fidgeting. 

It was mean, if not outright cruel to do this, but Doggett didn't care. If Fox Mulder wanted to kick him to get a reaction, he was going to find that this particular sleeping dog could bite. He stared at the uncomfortable man in front of him. Those hazel eyes weren't questioning now, just inches away, blinking rapidly. Doggett stood his ground, unwilling to be the one to step away first. 

"Doggett..." Mulder's throat clicked on the word. 

Blinking through the water trickling down his face, Doggett grinned. He jerked his chin upwards a touch and spoke as softly as he could. "What?" 

The way Mulder flinched, he might as well have shouted the word. 

"What're you doing?" 

Doggett deepened his smile, enjoying the sight of a disconcerted Mulder. 

"Nothin' Agent Muldah. Nothin' at all." He looked pointedly up and down Mulder's chest, then back to his face. 

"Why? What d'you want me to do?" 

There it was. The flash across his face that had betrayed him in Scully's kitchen. That look of hunger or anticipation. Gotcha, you little perv, Doggett thought in satisfaction. Admit it. No sooner had that triumphant thought crossed Doggett's mind, then Mulder moved suddenly, dipping his head in as fast as any bird of prey, and pressed his lips to Doggett's. 

Shit! Eyes popping open in shock, there was just time to register the touch of tongue on his mouth, the whisper of someone else's breath, before Doggett's hands shot out and grabbed hold of Mulder by the arms. The memory of another man touching him in a Marine shower room was brutally shoved aside by indignation and outrage. 

"Whaddafuck...?" 

Holding on to Mulder's arm he thrust him away and spun him around, vaguely surprised that he could get the jump on another trained agent. But he didn't stop to wonder that in any depth, just pressed home the advantage by slamming the other man against the tiled wall. 

He felt Mulder make sharp contact with the slick surface, instantly rebounding to bump back into his own body. Their nudity didn't enter his mind for an instant as he used his chest to pin Mulder where he had bounced, one hand clamped angrily around a slick wrist. He slammed forward again, until the other man was pressed up hard against the tiles. Breathing hard, Doggett hooked his chin over Mulder's shoulder, immobilizing him. 

Mulder wriggled in panic, trapped. Doggett allowed him a brief moment of movement, then tightened his grip in a way he knew from combat training, was painful. 

"It's rude to touch somethin' that don' belong to you," he breathed into a wet ear. Mulder turned his head towards him and opened his mouth to speak, but Doggett pulled his wrist up higher, the sharp movement jerking the other man into silence. 

"Y'hear me, Fox?" 

He pushed hard against the other man, emphasizing his snarled words. He was fucking well going to make it clear this time, once and for all, that he was off-limits to Fox William Mulder. 

"I'm taken," he spat, trying his best not to give in to the urge to pound Mulder's head on the wall. "You know that." High on the wall, the water from the shower head ran down both their arms. 

Mulder nodded dumbly, blinking water out of his wide eyes. Doggett stared right into them, daring him to argue. 

"So you don't get to touch." He knew the weight of his body pressing so hard into the wall must be hurting, but to give him credit, the other man stayed silent. Doggett nodded at Mulder's face. 

"Touch, or stare...You just get to exercise a little fuckin' control." He shoved against the body under his. 

"Y'hear?" 

Control. That was the key. Mulder should be able to control himself more, what with him being an officer of the law, and all. Must be out of his head to make half-assed passes at a man clearly so out of bounds. Jesus! No wonder the man made him lose his temper! Growling, Doggett ground his chin into Mulder's shoulder. "Just fuckin' control yourself, is all." Mulder made some unidentifiable noise in response and struggled. Doggett increased the pressure he was exerting. 

"Jesus, man. Grow up. You can't always have exactly what you want." Mulder had stopped wriggling now. He was just standing submissively underneath Doggett, the water cascading over the both of them. The last few bubbles of foam lazily circled the drain, apparently taking the last of Mulder's fight with it. 

The squashed agent muttered something vague, the sound of the shower swallowing the words. Doggett frowned at the face turned to him. "What?" Mulder grunted, pushing against Doggett. Gripping his wrist tighter, Doggett repeated himself. "What d'you say?" If this was an apology, he wanted to hear it all. God knows, he might never get another one out of the little shit. 

"I said..." Mulder blew water out of his mouth all over Doggett, who grimaced. 

"Do that again," he breathed wetly. 

"What?" 

Mulder pushed his ass out into Doggett's groin and the whole shower-wall scene suddenly crystallized in Doggett's horrified head. He grimaced, leaning back a touch. 

"Jesus Christ, Muldah. You just can't help yourself, can you?" he said, shaking his head. Mulder shook his head, eyes closed, seemingly unapologetic, unrepentant. 

Fuck it. He'd show him control. Releasing Mulder's wrist, Doggett brought his hand down and shoved it harshly between the other man's body and the wall, skinning his knuckles on the way. Shoving his hand hard against Mulder's stomach, he pushed his ass backwards, to rest in his groin. 

"You feel this, Muldah?" he asked, grinding himself into the other man. His cock stayed resolutely limp, despite pressing against hot, wet flesh. 

"I can control myself. Can you?" 

Mulder stayed silent and sightless, breathing rapidly through his open mouth. Still angry, Doggett pushed his hand down further, his fingers finding the evidence of Mulder's lack of control. 

"Sure doesn't feel like it, does it?" 

The other man groaned at the slight contact, irritating Doggett beyond rational thought. He wrapped his hand around Mulder's rigid cock. 

"You want this?" Doggett breathed, his face up close and personal to Mulder's. 

"You want me to do this?" No reply. 

"This is what you been thinkin' about, isn't it? Me doin' this to you?" 

Doggett's hand slowly moved up and down, skinning his hand even more on the tiles, his adrenaline levels pumped up so far he didn't feel a thing. Mulder's hips jerked crazily, knocking Doggett's hand against the wall. 

"You like this?" He squeezed as hard as he could, wringing another groan out of the writhing man. 

"Funny..." he said, pressing himself into Mulder's back. "Don't do a thing for me." 

An amazingly uninterested cock moved back and forth across Mulders butt. He could have been humping a wet leather sofa for all the effect it was having on him. On the next rough downstroke, Doggett felt a sudden warmth, hotter than the shower water spreading over his hand as Mulder groaned deep in his throat and shuddered. They both stood motionless. Mulder's eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, Doggett just stared at the water spilling down the wall in front of him. No control. Strangely, he felt no triumph in proving his point. He opened his fist and peeled himself away from Mulder's body, stepping back out of the spray. Staring at his hand, knuckles stained with semen and his own blood, Doggett grimaced and held it under the stream of water, watching as it stripped away the evidence. Shit. He might have proved a point, but it was a decidedly pyrrhic victory. Mulder leaned against the wall, a sad desperation screaming through his silence and Doggett was suddenly deeply ashamed of what he had just done. 

"Mulder..." 

No reply. Reaching out a hand to touch the back of Mulder's shoulder, he was shocked as Mulder cringed away from him. 

"Hey..." he said softly. 

Mulder turned away and Doggett suddenly felt like a complete shit. He stepped back. 

He wondered what to say. It seemed wrong to just walk out without another word, leaving the other man cringing against the wall like that. But what could he say? 'See you around...'? 'Serves you right...'? Or maybe 'How was it for you...'? 

Closing his eyes to blot out the sight of the man in the showers, Doggett knew he'd see this scene in his mind for the rest of his life. See it and feel guilty about it. For taking advantage of the situation. For taking it too far. For being a bad-tempered, intolerant asshole. Shit. But most of all, for committing what could be classed as a sexual assault on another man. This wasn't him. Fucking hell - John Jay Doggett didn't do things like that. Betty and Jack Doggett's boy was a good boy. A closeted, chickenshit queer, but a mostly good boy... He opened his mouth to tell Mulder that, to tell him all of it, but it just came out as: 

"Mulder... Shit, I'm sorry." 

Mulder didn't reply, but then Doggett didn't really expect him to. He just stood under the steady stream of water, his back to the doorway, his arms wrapped around his body. 

Doggett looked at the shivering man one last time, turned and walked out. 

* * *

chapter 4. 

"I need to see him," Doggett snapped, slamming the door to the outer office. 

"Right now." 

Kim looked up from her papers in surprise. 

"Agent Doggett..." 

"Now. I need to see the A.D. now." He was scowling, he knew, but he couldn't help himself. 

"I'm afraid..." 

Doggett ignored her and strode across the carpet to the inner door. Fuck protocol. He needed to talk to Skinner. It was way past clocking-out time. The F-B- fucking -I could go hang. It was his time now. Yanking open the door without knocking, Doggett barged in, brushing aside Kim's efforts to stop him. 

"Skinner?" 

Skinner looked up from where he stood, documents scattered all over his large desk, his sleeves rolled up, obviously deep in discussion with the two suited men who were looking at him like he was dressed in purple feathers. 

"I need to speak with you." 

Skinner looked at him. 

"I'm in a meeting, Agent." He tilted his head at Kim. "Make an appointment." 

Still wet-headed from the shower, Doggett was oblivious to the look on Skinner's face. He plunged on, stepping into the room, a belligerent look all over his face. 

"I need to speak with you now." 

He had to tell him what he'd just done. He had to tell Skinner he just committed a huge, fucking enormous breach in FBI codes of conduct. And an even bigger breach of his own personal code of behaviour. Shit - he had to 'fess up before Mulder got here and screamed from the rooftops that he wanted Doggett's balls on a spike for molesting him in the showers. Last but by no means least, he had to tell his lover he'd just jerked off another man. 

Straightening up, Skinner stared at him, his hands going to rest on his hips. 

"I said: Make an appointment. I'm busy." 

"I need..." Doggett started to say, the whole shower-room atrocity spinning around in his head. 

"Agent Doggett. Read my lips..." Skinner glared at him, forestalling any further comment. "Leave the room. Make an appointment. I'm busy." 

Doggett clenched his fist. His knuckles protested, but that was better the phantom feel of Mulder's cock in the palm of his hand. Shit. His stomach lurched at the memory of warmth spreading over the back of his hand. 

"This is important..." 

Skinner ignored him and pointed at the door. "Out." Fuck. Doggett scowled, finally registered the stance, the expression and most of all, the tone of voice. Unstoppable force meets immovable object. 

Jesus - was Skinner a complete fucking idiot? Didn't he realize how important this was? He would have thought it was completely fucking obvious this was something crucial - he would never burst into his office without a damn good reason. And what he'd just done was as good a reason as any. Mulder had the power of crucifixion over the pair of them, and now, thanks to Doggett's fucking stupid behaviour, had a good reason to bust the two of them all over the front page of the Washington Post. Public humiliation, private nightmare. 

The whole 'dismissal, court action and reportage' thing was so clear to him, he could almost hear the shouts of the photographers on the steps of the Justice building as he was driven away in a prison van. Bad enough he'd go down for sexual misconduct against Mulder, he refused to take anyone else with him. And fuck Skinner if he couldn't read between the lines for once in his life. He'd do it the hard way. Maybe that would be for the best anyway. 

He shook his head sharply. "That won't be necessary." Moving across the room, he pulled his badge and gun out in two brusque movements and threw them both onto Skinner's desk. 

"I'll type my resignation out and mail it on to personnel." Turning on his heel, he strode to the door, stunned silence following him. Past Kim and her open mouth, through the door and out into the corridor before anyone got second wind. 

As the twin doors of the elevator car began to close, he saw Skinner emerge from his office, his badge and gun clutched in his hand. As the doors cut across his face, Doggett ignored his shout. 

"John!" 

Better this way. 

* * *

chapter 5. 

The dirt-track to the house never got any better. Doggett rolled his eyes at the huge clouds of dust his truck kicked up behind him. He'd been at his father for years to get some asphalt down. Wouldn't cost all that much, and it'd save their eyes and their paintwork. Maybe he'd have another go at the old man. From the look of it, Fellows was still in business, the signs were still up outside his yard when he'd driven through town. He was sure Paul Fellows would give him a good price. There were certain advantages to knowing all a friend's Grade-school secrets. 

Driving slowly around the final bend, Doggett pulled over to the left, anticipating the usual attack from behind the barn. The Hound hated cars, hated trucks and absolutely loathed bikes of any description. He would launch himself at a moving object in a fury of teeth and fur that had scared the shit out of every visitor to the Doggett home for years. The stupid mutt would get himself run over one of these days, snapping at tyres. 

No Hound appeared, snarling and barking in indignation. That was strange. Maybe the old man had taken him out across the fields. Doggett shook his head at himself. No, Jack Doggett's days of hunting out in the fields behind the house were over, thanks to his plastic hip. Funny how he kept forgetting about that. He pulled up beside a blue Ford compact. Someone must be visiting, his dad had a flatbed. Always had one, for as long as Doggett could remember, a red flatbed. He might get an update every few years, but it was always a red flatbed. Supposed it was kind of wierd, but strangely comforting, all the same. 

He mounted the steps to the wrap-around porch, absently stuffing his car keys in his back pocket with one hand and pulling the screen door open with the other. 

"Anyone home?" he called, pushing the kitchen door and stepping into the cool interior. 

"Johnny!" 

A plump form swooped down from over by the walk-in pantry to him in a cloud of flour and cinnamon. 

"Hey, Ma." Grinning despite being drenched in twin handfuls of baking flour, Doggett allowed himself to be squeezed hard enough to make his breath wheeze in his chest. 

"Oh, baby..." Betty Doggett crooned from around his chest area. 

"You got here safe." 

Doggett fought against rolling his eyes. 

"Yeah." She hugged again, forcing a grunt out of him. "I'm here." 

Just as quickly as she had grabbed him, his mother pushed him away at arms length and gave him a little shake. 

"And just why has it taken you so long to come visit?" 

This time he did roll his eyes. 

"Jeez! I'm here, okay?" 

She gave him another shake. 

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain, young man." 

Doggett smiled. Young man. Been a while since anyone was crazy enough to call John Doggett that. 

"No, Ma." 

"Well then." She looked him up and down. "You look thin, Johnny. Have you been eating?" 

This was how it would go on, for at least the next half hour. She'd tell him he wasn't looking well, he'd insist he was fine, but would eat whatever she put in front of him, regardless. And that was how it was. 

Doggett sat at the big old family table, running his fingers over all the familiar scratches and dents, a glass of iced tea in one hand, a plate of home-made cake at his elbow. His mother made enough conversation for the two of them, and for once, he was grateful. He just had to agree and nod in the right places. It was a relief not to have to think about what to say. He just ate several thick slices of cake and sipped his tea. Peach tea. Sharp and sweet, like she always made. Just like her. 

"Where's Dad?" 

"He won't be long. One of the Dexter boys is dropping him off." 

Doggett nodded. He'd forgotten it was the day his dad always met up with his old army buddies. Seemed he was forgetting a lot of stuff about his folks. He wasn't sure how that ought to make him feel. He nodded, chasing the last bite of cake around his plate. No doubt especially made in honour of his homecoming. The Prodigal Son. Yeah, right. He shook his head before his train of thought could get any more morose. 

"Who's is that jazzy-looking Ford out front?" 

"Your Daddy's." 

Doggett stopped mid-bite. "His?" No way. 

"Traded in the truck about..." She looked out of the window. 

"Oh, about two years ago, now I guess." 

Doggett swallowed his mouthful of cake with difficulty. Two years ago? Shit. Had it been that long? That long since he'd had more than most cursary of conversations with his parents? A conversation that contained more than: Happy Christmas, Happy Birthday and Did you get the gifts I sent? Doggett stared at his mother's back as she pulled cooling racks from above the range, an uncomfortable feeling unfurling in his belly. 

"Course, if you visited us more often, you'd know these things." 

The nascent feeling died. Shit. The Guilt Trip. World's best cure for the urge to Visit With the Parents. Doggett scowled. Why did she have to do that every time? It spoiled everything. 

"I have a lot goin' on, you know that Ma." 

"Busy man." 

Was that sarcasm, or aknowledgement? He'd been out of her range too long to tell the difference. 

"Yeah, I have a lot happenin'. The job... Y'know?" 

"I don't know much about your life, Johnny. Not any more." 

Doggett traced the marks on the table. Wasn't that the truth? 

"Yeah, well..." There wasn't much he could say to that. It was true, after all. Nothing much he wanted to say now, among the smells of a warm kitchen, and without the protection of body-armour. 

He reached for another slice of cake. "Daddy's doin' okay, though?" 

Betty nodded. "Pretty much. Bit stiff in the mornings and he's driving me nuts with his hearin', but he's okay, I guess." 

Doggett smiled. "Gettin' more deaf?" 

His mother snorted. "Gettin' contrary, more like. Life would be a darn sight easier if the stubborn old coot used his hearin' aid." 

"He still refusin' to wear it?" 

"Oh no, he wears it alright." She slammed the oven door shut. 

"Just won't turn the darned thing on!" 

Doggett laughed, coughing on cake-crumbs. 

"Says he's saving the batteries." 

"That's Daddy, alright." 

"Silly old fool." 

She smiled, shaking her head, wiping her hands on her apron. 

"You tell him, Ma." 

He was in no doubt that she would, and did, at every possible opportunity. Not that it seemed to make a scrap of difference. And he supposed that was why the marriage lasted so long. His father's enviable ability to switch her off. 

* * *

chapter 6. 

Scully sat back in her chair. "We're in the FBI. We could trace him in a heartbeat." 

Skinner looked at her. He didn't say anything, but she knew the same thought must have occurred to him at some point in the last two days. 

"What if..." He hesitated. "What if he doesn't want me to find him?" 

"You don't believe that." She hoped he didn't. 

Skinner shrugged. "He didn't leave any word. No explainations. Surely he would have said something if he'd wanted me to follow him." Scully bit a sigh back. Men. They were so literal. Couldn't they make intuative leaps? 

"Walter, if you want him, you need to put a little effort into finding him." 

That got him to look at her. 

"If you don't, you'll regret it." She put her empty mug down. 

"Look. There has to be a logical reason as to why John has taken off. Whatever it is, he needs your help to sort it out. And you can't do anything to help him, until you find him." 

"You think?" 

She smiled. "Yes. I do." 

He gave her a weak smile. "You sound very sure of yourself." 

Scully wound her fingers around his and squeezed. "I have some experience dealing with stubborn men." 

They stared at one another for a beat, then both spoke at the same time. 

"Mulder." 

Scully shook her head. "He hasn't said anything to me." 

Skinner nodded. "No reason why he should know anything." 

Scully shook her head. "No reason at all." She glanced at her cel phone. 

"Shall I...? 

Skinner nodded. "Call him. You never know." 

Scully let go of Skinner and reached for the phone. "Probably a waste of time." 

Skinner nodded. "Probably." 

Speed dial number two. 

They stared at one another while the phone rang. 

"Yo, Scul." 

"Mulder?" 

"Naturally." 

"It's me." 

"I know, Scully, it tells me on the little screen." 

Scully sighed. She really wasn't in the mood for this. "Listen Mulder. We need to talk to you. It's important." 

"We, who?" 

Scully glanced at the sofa. "AD Skinner," she said, arching an eyebrow in apology. 

"Can you come over?" 

It was very quiet on the other end of the line. 

"Mulder? You still there?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"Well?" 

"Now?" 

God! Did he do this on purpose? "Yes, now." 

"Why?" 

Scully frowned at the phone, little warning bells going off in her head. 

"I can't discuss it over the phone." 

"A hint?" 

"Mulder... Just come, would you?" 

"What?" His voice squeaked. 

Scully frowned again. "What?" He was making less sense than usual. Silence. 

"Mulder?" 

She exchanged a glance at Skinner, who was looking mystified at her half of the conversation. 

"Mulder. My apartment. Now." 

There was a pause, long enough to wonder if he was still there, and then a small voice piped up. 

"And Skinner's with you?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh." Another record-breaking pause. 

Scully tilted her head. "Is that a problem, Mulder?" 

He ignored her. 

"Is Doggett there, too?" 

"No. That's why we need to talk to you." 

"I'm busy, at the moment, Scully." 

Eyes wide with astomishment, Scully looked at the small piece of plastic in her hand. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Really busy." 

"Fox William Mulder, if you are not at my door in half and hour, I will come find you and when I do I will take great pleasure in hurting you." 

No reply. 

"Is that clear?" 

Again, he ignored her question. 

"Is he mad?" 

Scully pulled a face at the phone. "What are you talking about?" 

"Skinner. Is he mad?" 

"About what?" 

"Nothing in particular." 

"Mulder..." Warning bells had morphed into full-scale red-alert sirens. 

He knew something. She'd bet her stethescope on it. She held her finger over the cancel button. 

"Half an hour, Mulder." 

Stabbing him into static, she looked up at Skinner's worried face. 

"He knows something." 

"How can you tell?" 

Smiling grimly, Scully got up and took the mugs through to the kitchen. 

"Long experience, Walter," she said, switching the kettle back on. 

"Long experience. 

* 

"Hey... Where's Hound got to?" Doggett looked around,under the table and beside the range. 

"Dumb mutt missed chasin' my truck." 

Putting her glass down, his mother clucked in the back of her throat. 

"Smelly old heap of fur's in the front room." 

"He didn't run out when I pulled in." 

His mother shrugged. "Got so he can't do much but pass gas and pee on his rug." 

Doggett felt a sudden pang. He had been kind of looking forward to the ritual of dog-dodging up the drive. He pushed away from the table and walked through the door to the other room. Lying on a scrunched up blanket in the strip of suinshine that lay across the floor, was Hound. The old dog looked up as Doggett came into the room. 

"Hey, Hound, old boy..." Squatting down beside him, Doggett scratched behind a ragged ear. "How ya doin'?" 

With his tail beating time on the floor, Hound snuffled his hand, getting dog-snot all over it. Doggett smiled, not minding. He knelt down, sending a cloud of blanket-dust motes into the sunshine. She was right, the old dog stank. A rich mixture of canine b.o., old blanket and breath. Not to mention the ripe odour of dogfarts. 

"Jesus, Hound, you really outdid yourself, didn't you?" Doggett murmured, holding the grey muzzle up to gaze into milky eyes. The dog gazed back aimiably, tail swishing gently, as if too sharp a wag might break something. 

"You look kinda like I feel," he whispered. The dog agreed, silently licking the salt from Doggett's palm. 

There was no more mad truck-chasing to be had from this old dog. The only car tyres he would bite in future would be in his dreams. He had been a good dog. Nuttier than squirrel-shit and twice as bad tempered, but a character, for sure. A great rat-catcher and a perfect companion for his father. Taking his weight on one hand, Doggett leaned forward and kissed the dog on the head. 

"You go back to sleep, now. Y'hear?" he whispered. Hound wagged again, and laid his head on his paws, obediently. There was a hiss from his rear end and the mutt looked up, apologetically. 

"Christ!" Doggett pulled a face at the stench. He waved a hand under his nose, standing. Closing the front room door behind him, Doggett walked slowly back through to the kichen. 

"See what you mean." 

His mother looked up from the sink. 

"Here. Just you see you wash your hands." She pulled Doggett by the front of his shirt to the big old sink. 

"I know you fussed him." 

Doggett opened his mouth to protest, but a plump hand shot up between them. 

"Don't you tell me different, John Jay. I know you. You couldn't couldn't resist petting that smelly old thing, could you?" 

Busted, Doggett grinned. "No, Ma." He stuck his hands in the suds. His mother never was a dog-person. 

"Owww! Shi...!" Snatching his hand out of the hot water, Doggett winced. 

He looked at the back of his knuckles. Skinned and scratched. He stared at the new scabs. 

"Oh, Johnny! How'd you do that?" His mother crooned, taking his hand in hers and turning it over to inspect the damage. 

The sting of the exposed flesh screamed shower-room to him and he felt his neck warm up. That was one injury he wasn't in a rush to explain to his mother. He sighed softly as he saw her fetch the first-aid box. It was going to be a long visit. 

* * *

chapter 7. 

Slinking. That was the word, Scully thought as she shut the door behind Mulder. He's definately slinking. And it was a guilty slink, at that. 

"Thanks for coming over," she said. 

Mulder threw her a glance. "Like I had a choice?" 

Inclining her head, Scully hid a grim smile. "I suppose not," she admitted. She waved her hand. "Sit down, please." 

Mulder conspicuously chose the chair furthest from Skinner, an act which merely confirmed what she suspected. He was guilty of something. She just didn't know what it was yet. 

"Would you like a coffee? I just brewed fresh." 

Mulder shook his head. "No, thank you." He looked over to Skinner. 

"Can we just get on with it?" 

Skinner frowned. 

"Get on with what?" 

"Whatever it is you want to chew me a new one for." 

Skinner looked blank. 

Scully sat between the two men. It might not seem like the most sensible place to be, but it meant she could stop Mulder from bolting, and hopefully stop Skinner from killing him, when they found out what it was he knew. 

Throwing his hand out in exasperation, Mulder sighed dramatically. 

"Oh come on! Just give it to me. Gimme your best shot. I can take it." 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mulder," Skinner began. 

"Oh, please! I know Scully's place makes a change from the carpet in front of your desk, but a chewing-out's a chewing-out wherever it goes down." 

"Mulder..." The other man folded his arms defensively. 

"Go on. Best shot." 

"Mulder..." Scully leaned forward. 

"What?" Full-blown beligerance, now. Pout, scowl and all. 

"The A.D. just wanted to ask you if knew anything about the whereabouts of Agent Doggett." 

Silence. Not a peep. 

"Mulder?" 

Two impossibly wide eyes net hers. 

"Do you know where John might have gone?" 

Mulder swallowed. "He's... gone?" 

Scully nodded. She had to give him his due, he looked genuinely shocked. 

"He left some time on Thursday." 

Mulder shook his head. "Where?" 

"That's what we wanted to ask you," Skinner said. 

Mulder looked at him, surprised. 

But Scully was more interested that Mulder's first reaction hadn't been 'why' had he gone?. 

"You think I know where he's gone?" He sounded incredulous. 

Skinner sighed. "I'm clean out of ideas, Mulder." He spread his hands. 

"He's taken stuff from his house and gone someplace in his truck that he didn't bother telling me about." 

Scully watched as Mulder winced at the tone of Skinner's voice. That, too, was interesting. 

"Sorry. I've no idea." Mulder shrugged, then looked down, to study his knees. 

"Far as I know, he didn't have a case on." He glanced up. "Maybe he took a holiday." 

Skinner stared at him. 

"On his own?" 

The words 'without me?' didn't need to be said. The look on his face did all the talking for him. Taking advantage of the silence, Scully spoke quietly. 

"Mulder... If you don't know where John's gone, do you know why?" 

Bingo, thought Scully, taking one look at the expression on Mulder's face. 

"No..." he said, slowly. 

"Are you sure?" If she had to go get sharp, pointy things out of the kitchen, she was going to get the truth out of him. 

"I said no, didn't I?" 

Skinner sighed, obviously disappointed. 

Scully pressed her lips together. "Mulder..." 

He looked in her general direction, but didn't meet her eyes. 

"What?" 

She decided to go for the jugular. 

"What happened between you and John?" 

"What makes you think anything happened?" The thin edge of panic in his voice gave him away. 

"Something happened?" Skinner looked up, eyes searching Mulder's face. 

Lurching to a standing position, Mulder ripped himself from the chair and moved over to the window. 

"Nothing happened," he insisted. 

"Mulder..." Scully used her warning tone. She'd had a lot of practise honing it, over the years. "Give it up." 

"It was just a stupid misunderstanding, that's all." 

"And?" Skinner was on his feet too. 

"Nothing!" Mulder moved to stand behind the dining table. 

Scully stood and put her hand on Skinner's sleeve. She shook her head at him. After a moment, he sat back down, clearly itching to take up issue with Mulder on a more personal level. Scully moved to stand in front of Mulder, blocking his view of Skinner's body. 

"This is important, Mulder. No-one's mad at you..." It was like trying to re-assure a sulky child. 

"But we need to know what happened." She glanced behind. "Skinner's frantic," she whispered, hoping that Skinner wouldn't mind her saying that. 

Mulder sighed and rolled his eyes. He was weakening. He shifted his feet. 

"Look, it's not my fault he went AWOL." 

"Maybe not. But you might be able to give us a clue as to why he would feel the need to hand in his badge and gun before he went." Oh yeah. Right for the jugular. 

Mulder's eyes bulged, his mouth fell open. 

"He did what!?" 

Scully nodded. "Resigned." 

The high colour of indignation drained from Mulder's face and he down into a chair. 

"God..." 

Skinner appeared at Scully's elbow. 

"He didn't just leave me," he said miserably. "He walked out on his career." 

"God..." Mulder repeated, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. 

"But it wasn't..."He trailed off, staring into space. "There was no need..." 

Scully bent and rested her hand on his shoulder. "What, Mulder? Tell us what happened." 

Miserable eyes looked up and Scully felt a pang of sympathy for him. 

"We had a ... " He glanced over to Skinner and swallowed. "A bit of a fight." 

Skinner nodded. 

"Go on." 

"We kind of... Sort of ... " He wrung his hands together, twisting his face up, trying to find the right way to describe what had happened. 

"Well, it was kind of a 'confrontation', I suppose." 

Scully sighed gently. No great shock there. Mulder and Doggett at each other's throats. Situation normal. Infantile and pathetic, but there you go. 

"You two have argued before. What's so special about this time?" Scully asked. She shrugged. "Why did he feel the need to resign?" 

Skinner reached a hand on the table top, spreading his large fingers towards Mulder. 

"Did he... Hit you?" 

Striking another agent was a disciplinary offence. 

Mulder wriggled in his chair. "No," he said slowly, frowning. 

Scully exchanged a glance with Skinner. That was a 'yes' if ever they heard one. 

"Mulder..." Skinner leaned forward to stare into the blinking eyes. 

"If John hit you, then he has to address that. But all I want to do at the moment, is find him. Okay?" 

"He didn't hit me," Mulder insisted. "You don't really think he'd do that, do you?" 

Skinner stared. 

Most of him wanted to say no, Doggett would never hit another agent. But there wasa tiny, traitorous part of him that had seen Doggett's temper in action and that part was currently screaming at him. Screaming that his lover was perfectly capable of pounding Mulder into a wet spot on the carpet should he be of a mind. 

"You want me to take all my clothes off and prove there's not a mark on me?" 

Mulder reached for his collar. 

"God, no." Scully pulled a face. 

"We believe you." She shook her head at him. "Honestly." 

"So what then?" Skinner asked again. "If he didn't punch you, then what happened?" 

Mulder sighed and dropped his hand on the table. 

"I ..." He sighed again and rubbed a finger on the varnish. "I kind of teased him." 

"And?" Skinner's voice was deceptively soft. 

"And he threw me up against the shower wall." He shrugged. "That's all. No big deal." 

"Must have been a big deal to Doggett," Scully said the silence that followed the confession. 

Again, Skinner spoke quietly, his lips barely moving. 

"What did you do to make him act like that?" 

Mulder stared at him, weighing up his options. He could tell the truth and risk the bigger man tearing his throat out, or he could act dumb. He had a momentary flashback to the feel of Doggett's shocked mouth under his. Shit. He'd acted dumb enough already. Spreading his hands out, he sighed. "I kissed him, okay?" 

The silence this time was utterly devestating. He looked at both shocked faces in front of him. 

"You did what?" Skinner's whisper barely made it out of his tight throat. 

"It was a joke, really. Just a stupid joke." 

"God, Mulder!" Scully sat down with a plop on the other chair. "What did you do sucha dumb thing?" 

Mulder shook his head. "Can't for the life of me remember," he said wryly. He snorted. 

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Not such a great idea two seconds later, but wasn't that always the way? 

He looked up sharply as Skinner's chair creaked. 

The big man was sitting rigid, his face starting to colour up. 

Mulder didn't like the look of that. 

"Skinner - it was a joke... Honestly. Didn't mean anything." 

"I should hope not," Scully said, shaking her head. "Are you totally out of your mind, Mulder?" 

"So it would seem," he replied, not taking his eyes off Skinner. He wondered if he would be able to make the front door before the AD took him down and beat the shit out of him. He doubted it. 

"You kissed him?" Still with the quiet voice. 

All things considered, Mulder would actually have preferred a shouting match. 

"Yeah..." he laughed, shakily. "Dumb, or what?" 

Skinner didn't reply, just stared. 

"Well I think it was an absolutely crazy thing to do." Scully got up and leaned over Mulder, cuffing him across the head. 

"Yeeowww!" 

"You must be out of your tiny pea-shaped mind to do that to John Doggett." 

"Jeez! Can't you people see the funny side?" He grumbled, although he was having a hard time seeing the funny side himself, right now. 

"Mulder. There is no 'funny side' to this. You're a moron." 

"Yeah," he agreed, rubbing his head. "I suppose." He looked up at Skinner. 

"Sorry," he muttered. 

The way Skinner was staring he began to doubt he'd get past the sofa, let alone anywhere near the door. 

* * *

chapter 8. 

It had taken his mother twenty minutes to fuss ointment over his knuckles. Doggett had felt about three years old, being dragged back to the table, shoved down and told to stay. He tried to tell her it was fine, it had survived two days without her ministrations, but a rap across the back of his undamaged hand had shut him up pretty sharp. So he surrendered, and allowed his mother to smear some evil-smelling gunk over his wounds, trying not to wince and flinch. 

As he unpacked his carry-on, the light dressing catching on every conceivable surface, he sighed and swore. This whole visit was seeming less like a good idea by the minute. He shut the old dresser and flopped down on the edge of the bed, looking around. This had been his old room, since he was about seven and they'd moved here. Smiling, he took in the familiar wallpaper that he'd helped his dad hang, two summers before he'd enlisted. Jesus! You'd think they'd have redecorated by now. It was horribly out of date. All the furniture was the same, too. The desk where he'd done all his homework, the wooden mirror with the pictures of the cheerleading team stuck in the edge and the wardrobe where he and Tim Forest had sat for hours, waiting for Narnia to appear. He grinned. One of the first disappointments of his life was not walking through his clothes to the world of C.S.Lewis. He remembered Tim had punched him for being a lying sack of crap. Funny what stuck in your mind. 

He ran his hand over the fluffy bedspread. That at least, was new. Well, he'd never seen it before, but he supposed that didn't mean it was new. Sometimes things changed without your permission. He sighed. Damn, didn't they just? 

"Johnny?" 

He looked up as the door swung open and a flurry of familiar blond hair poked through. Grinning, Doggett stood. "Hey." 

"Hey yourself, Big Dog." Sal came into the room, immediately wrapping her arms around him. 

He hugged her tight, his chin on her shoulder. God, that felt good. Someone holding him. He forced his eyes open. Don't get morose. Think of something to say. 

"You finished school already?" 

She pulled her head away from his shoulder, shaking it. "It is half past five, you know." 

He peered at his watch. "It is?" Shit, where had the afternoon gone? 

"Mama sent me up to see where you'd gotten to." She laughed. "You know she likes to keep track of you." 

"Shut up." He grinned at her. 

"Oh, You think you can boss me around?" 

"No," he admitted, shaking his head. "Probably not." 

She nodded in agreement, pushing him away a little. She looked him up and down, then frowned. "You okay? You don't look so good." 

Doggett sighed. Women. 

"I'm good," he lied. "Just tired." 

"You look it." She stepped back a little, holding his hands. The dressing caught her eye and she spent a moment inspecting it. 

"Mama insisted. It was just a stupid scrape." 

"Uh-huh," she nodded. She looked up at him. "Where's Walt?" 

Shit. Why had he ever thought he'd get away with it? That thought was swiftly followed by sense of amazement that she should ask that while staring at his skinned knuckles. 

"He's stuck at work." He held up the other hand. "Up to his eyeballs. You know how it is for bosses." He smiled, wondering if she was fooled. 

"You two had a fight?" 

"No, Sal. We didn't have a fight." At least it wasn't a real lie. He just wouldn't mention he hadn't hung around long enough for them to have a fight. That would come later, when he finally got up the courage to face the other man. Probably in the lobby of the court room, just before he got called to the dock. 

"Uh-huh,' she said again. "So. You gonna tell them about him?" Probably not. 

"I don't know, Sal. Maybe it's not such a great idea." He sat down again. "They're old. They don't need to know about their son's sex-life." 

Sal rapped on the top of his head with her knuckles. 

"Hello? It's not your sex-life. It's your love-life." 

Not necessarily, he thought miserably. Not when Skinner found out. 

"Whatever," he said. "I'll think about it." 

She tipped his chin up. "Promise?" 

He smiled up at her, remembering a hundred other childhood bargains. 

"Cross my heart." 

"Okay, then." She bent to kiss his forehead. "Let's get you back downstairs before the old dear pines away without your wonderful company." 

"Shut up, Sal. It's not that bad." 

"Get real, big brother. The sunshines outta your rear-end, where Mama's concerned." 

"Oh yeah?" He reached for her, but she stepped out of reach. 

"Yeah. You know you're the Golden Child." 

"Like hell!" 

He grabbed again, a handful of her skirt whispering through his fingers. 

"Too old too slow, Dogbreath!" she called, dodging through his door and down the stairs. 

Grinning, Doggett plunged down after her. 

* 

"If he wanted to disappear, then he's doing a piss-poor job of it," Mulder remarked, pecking out something on his keyboard. 

"What've you got?" Scully moved around the desk to peer over his shoulder. 

"Credit card transaction on the 24th. Motel 6." He tapped the screen triumphantly. "And that, with the gas he bought earlier, means that voila! We know where you're going, Mr. Doggett!" 

Scully turned to look. "Are we mind-reading this morning, Mulder? I don't see a schedule attached to any of these credit-card slips." 

"Mulder rolled his eyes. "Take a wild guess, Scul." 

She stood up straight, folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the desk, tapping a yellow office pencil on her arm. 

"Why don't you just tell me, instead. Before I stab you with the sharp end of this." Opening his arms wide, Mulder leaned back in his chair with the flourish of a Vegas magician. 

"Home, Scul. He's going home." 

"And you reached this conclusion, how?" 

Sighing at the lack of appreciation, Mulder let his hands sag. 

"We have a steady trail downwards, card-wise, okay?" 

Scully nodded, still toying with the idea of stabbing him anyway, just for being Mulder. 

"Go on," she said, biding her time. 

"Well, what d'you hear whenever he opens that mouth of his?" 

Scully counted off numbers in her head. When she reached fifty, she'd stab him. 

"His voice?" she replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. 

"Very funny. What else?" 

"Depends on whether he's cut himself or not." She smiled at the memory of the expletives that had fallen from John Doggett's lips that night at her place. 

"I'm talking accent, Scully. Accent." 

She stared. 

"New York's the other way." 

"Yeah, but what's underneath the Bronx?" She shook her head, then getting it, opened her eyes wide. 

"The South." 

Mulder pointed a finger. "Yep, the South." 

Scully nodded, in realisation. "He's going home.:" 

* * *

chapter 9. 

Doggett stumbled into the kitchen all arms and legs with Sal, both of them breathless from the chase through the house, him with a handful of her sweater gripped tight, her with a handful of Doggett-ear. 

"Let go!" he gasped. 

"You first!" 

Bent-headed and red-faced, Doggett registered a pair of dusty work-boots sticking out from under the kitchen table and stilled his struggling. He let go of Sal, waiting patiently for her to release him and allow him to stand up properly. 

"I win," Sal announced, pushing him away. 

"Sure you do," he replied absently, pulling his shirt back straight and running a quick hand through his hair. Only then did he feel able to meet his father's eyes. 

"Hiya, Daddy," he said, nodding. 

His father nodded at him, sipping from his favourite blue mug. He felt Sal laying a quick hand on his back, then she moved to sit next to their mother on the other side of the table. 

Conscious of being the focus of attention, Doggett stepped forward, hestitantly, bringing his hand up in front of him, offering to his father. He could feel his ear glowing from Sal's grip. Made it feel like it was sticking out from head at right-angles. His hand hovered in mid-air, until his father caught sight of it and with a small sound that could have been a sigh or a grunt, he leaned forward and took his son's proferred hand. 

Doggett put his hands in his jeans pockets and slipped into the last chair. 

"You doin' okay?" he asked. 

His father ignored him, fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch. Puzzled at being ignored, he leaned forward, his mouth open to ask again, but his mother stretched over and snapped a dishcloth at the silent man. 

"JACK!" she yelled. "Turn it ON, you stubbon old fool!" 

"WHAT?" he yelled back. 

Betty pointed to her ear. "TURN IT ON!" 

"Oh." 

Relinquishing the watch, Jack fiddled around in an ear that stuck out at near right-angles from his head, until a tooth-clenching whistle told everyone he was good to go. 

"Okay?" he asked in a normal tone. 

Betty Doggett heaved an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose so." She tapped the table between them. "Johnny asked you a question." 

Jack looked over, eyebrows up. 

Doggett cleared his throat. "I asked if you're keeping well." He nodded, considering the question. "Pretty good, I guess." He smiled. "You?" 

Lots of different replies ran naked through Doggett's mind, each one more lurid than the next, vying for position as the comment most likely to bring on a stroke. 'I spend a lot of my free time making love to another man'... struggled for precedence with: 'I threw in my job' which in turn was strangled by 'I just sexually assaulted a collegue'. Decision, decisions. He glanced at Sal, but she just stared back. In the end, pure common sense and moral responsibility won out. 

"I'm good," he said, shrugging. He could always give the old man a coronary later. 

"He looks thin," his mother announced with the finality of one unaccustomed to argument. 

"Looks okay to me," Jack said, looking Doggett up and down. 

"Yeah, he looks lean and sexy," Sal added, giggling. 

Doggett grinned lop-sidedly back, blushing. 

"You shouldn't talk about your brother like that," Betty admonished. 

"Aw Ma! Just look at him, all those muscles... Not an ounce of fat. He's in great shape." Pulling a face that meant trouble, Sal leaned forward on her elbows. 

"Bet he has queues round the block, wantin' to date him." 

"Sal..." 

Doggett tried to glare at her, but was betrayed by his sense of the ridiculous. She was teasing, but his mother was apt to be so literal it was painful. And Sal knew this, she was just being a brat. 

"That may be so..." Looking over, Betty rapped on the table. 

"What do you say, Jack?" 

Doggett rolled his eyes. He could just imagine what his father thought of that comment. He'd always ragged on John to put some weight on. 'Eat more, son... Lift weights... You'll never get a girl looking like a poor man's scarecrow.' Seemed to spend his teens stuffing bananas down his throat and making him hump bales of hay all over the place. Well, he'd just shit himself when he found out that his son didn't get the girl, after all. 

"I wouldn't know about that," Jack said. He laid his mug down. "Maybe some women like 'em skinny." 

The taste of peaches in Doggett's mouth battled on the tip of his tongue to tell his father that some men liked 'em skinny, too, but he remembered with a sickening feeling that perhaps Skinner wouldn't like him much now. He swallowed both items on his tongue. Best not to say anything, given the circumstances. 

"Fit between the legs better," Sal spoke up from her chair. She winked at Doggett, almost making him smile. 

"Sarah Doggett!" Betty sputtered into her tea. "That's a disgusting thing to say!" 

"It's true!" Sal objected. 

"That experience talking, daughter dear?" Jack grunted. 

Sal sputtered, hoist on her own petard. Doggett clenched his jaw, as his father rose from the table, holding on to the riot of laughter he could feel bubbling up. 

He looked up to where his father stood, mouth open, about to say: Nice one, Papa, or something equally likely to piss his mother off. He looked up and stared, feeling his mouth slowly close. Jack Doggett had shrunk. Caved in on himself, shrivelled. Doggett was shocked to find he didn't have to look up nearly as far as he used to. What the hell? Where was the father he remembered from the other end of countless hay-bales, wrestling matches and a good many strappings. Someone had stolen him away and left this frail-looking old man in his place. Shit. 

"I'm goin' in the barn. Got me some stuff to fix." He limped his way across the kitchen. 

Doggett watched his progress his belly churning with different emotions. Part of him wanted to grab his father and shake him, shouting that he had no right to get old, not when he needed someone to help him sort out the messy fucking ruin of his life, another part wanted to get up and put his arms around those brittle-looking shoulders and hug him because he hadn't done that in years and ought to have. He could feel himself bracing to stand, wondering which it was he would do. 

"You be sure to call me when supper's goin', y'hear?" 

"I might," Betty shrugged, lifting her hand to touch the fingers that brushed her shoulder as he walked past. 

Then with a flick in his large ear to switch himself off, he was gone, screen door banging behind him. Doggett stared at the back door, frowning, one hand braced on the table. Fucking hell. 

* * *

chapter 10. 

"So the thing is... Do we tell him?" Mulder rocked back on his chair. 

"I don't know," Scully replied, rolling a pencil back and forth across her desk. Files of work lay unmolested in their in-trays. Cups of coffee, untouched. 

"You think we should?" 

Scully winced. She couldn't believe she was asking Mulder's advice about anything, let alone anything concerning relationships. 

He rocked back and forth a bit, considering. Scully picked up her pencil. She could probably get him from this distance. 

"I'm not sure," he said at last. 

"And why's that?" 

This should be good. 

"Is it because you think Skinner can't take the rejection..." 

Mulder frowned, shaking his head. 

"Or is it because Doggett has something else to tell Skinner about what really happened in the shower?" 

Mulder's head shot up. 

Well, what d'you know, thought Scully. I'm getting good at this. 

"Oh, Mulder." She shook her head. "You didn't tell Skinner everything, did you?" 

Mulder wriggled. 

"Did you?" 

He pouted. "Wasn't what I did tell him, bad enough?" 

"Yes. But if what you didn't tell him is any worse, I think you'd better book a plane ticket to Canada." 

He looked at her across the desks, blinking myopically. "Y'think?" 

"Did you not see Skinner's face when you said the 'k' word?" 

Blink and blanch. 

"Quite." 

Feeling every so slightly vindictive, Scully leaned back in her own chair and folded her arms. 

"Of course, it all depends how bad it was." She shrugged casually. 

"Are we talking tongue, here..." She narrowed her eyes. "Or fluids?" 

Mulder brought the front legs of his chair down to earth with a crash. 

"Jesus Christ, Scully! What a thing to say! I'm shocked!" 

Bingo... 

She stared at his red face and wondered if Skinner would kill him here, or drag his screaming body away to the woods. 

* 

In the end, of course, Sal had to go and get their dad for supper. The had been a huge fuss over whether the chicken was ruined for having an extra ten minutes in the oven, then they had all settled down to demolish it. Doggett ate surprisingly well, he thought, considering his state of mind. Seconds of everything, including the greens, which he had spent a lifetime avoiding in this kitchen. 

"It's good to see you finally eating vegetables," he mother said. 

"I've been eating them since I broke my twenties, Ma," he laughed. 

She had just huffed at that. 

There had been apple and sultana pie for dessert, his favourite. Baked especially, Sal had teased. He'd just grinned at her and eaten two platefuls, because she didn't care for it. And now, sitting in front of the fire in the back room, he regretted it. He was so full he thought if he moved sharply, he'd puke. 

"Great meal, Mama. Really great." 

"You could use some decent food inside you," she commented from behind her sewing. 

Sal came through with a tray of coffee. 

"Ma, he's gonna get fat, the amount you stuff down his throat." 

"Nonsense." 

With her back to her mother, Sal winked at Doggett, handing him a Captain America mug. 

"Oh, my God, Ma! I can't believe you've kept this!" he sat up straight and examined it. 

"Why would I throw it away? It's perfectly usable." 

Doggett turned it around in his hands. "Yeah, but..." 

"Waste not - want not, Johnny. You'd do well to remember that." 

Sal rolled her eyes and sat beside him. Doggett tried not to grin. 

"I suppose so," he said, keeping on safe ground. He sipped the coffee, still amazed he ws drinking out of something he'd won in a 6th Grade spelling-bee. 

"So." His mother put her sampler down. "How're things in the sinful big city?" 

Doggett coughed, coffee shooting up the back of his nose. He sat forward, juggling his cup, while Sal pounded on his back. A little over-enthusiastically, he thought. 

"Fine," he choked out. "Just... fine." He flinched away from Sal, glaring. 

She just grinned back at him, waggling her eyebrows. 

"We hear all sorts on the news." 

Doggett looked at her. "I shouldn't believe everything you hear on the news, Ma. It's mostly just stories made up by the press." 

"I don't know..." 

"Hey, Ma." Sal folded her legs under her. "I didn't see any murders while I was up there." She glanced at Doggett. "Or any wild orgies." She winked. 

"Although I tried hard enough." 

Doggett gaped. 

Their mother banged her mug down. "Sarah Doggett!" 

Sal giggled, pleased with the reaction all round. 

"I won't have you talk like that!" 

"Yes, Mama." Sal replied, telling her mother what she wanted to hear. 

All Doggett could hear was the stuff that had come out of Sal's mouth in his house. Wherever she learned about those kind of sexual practises, it sure wasn't in this household. He just kept his head down and tried not to blush at the images in his head. 

"I hope you kept an eye on your sister while she was up there with you, Johhny." 

"Oh... I sure tried, Mama." He shook his head. Payback. He looked up and grinned. "But you know how she gets." 

"John took me to a dancin' club, Mama." 

Shit. Rebound. 

Doggett shot her an evil stare. 

"He didn't!" 

"Sure did." 

Damn her! Doggett groaned silently. Here it comes... 

"Oh, Johnny. I'm so disappointed in you. I thought you could be trusted. Those type of places are just terrible..." 

How would she know? Doggett thought. The wildest place she'd ever been was a barn-dance. 

"Ma, she's old enough to go to a club, for the love of God." 

A finger came up. "Don't you..." 

He sighed. "I know, I'm sorry." 

"It wasn't a wild club, Mama." Sal tried to backtrack. 

"That's hardly the point. I had hoped you would be safe with your brother to look out for you." 

"I was safe. Incredibly safe." She laughed. "I had two FBI men to look after me." 

Their mother picked up her drink. 

"Was that Johhny's nice friend from work?" 

More coffee down his throat. He coughed again, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. 

"For goodness sake, John! Have you got bones in that drink?" 

Doggett sighed. 

"No, Ma'am." 

"He's just not house-trained yet, Mama." Sal dug him in the ribs. 

"Clearly." 

Doggett sighed and glanced up, brushing his shirt. His father peered over the tops of his glasses and winked conspiritorally. Doggett winked back, smiling. Us men have to stick together, he thought. 

"And to answer your question, before we were so rudely interrupted, yes, Ma. It was his friend." 

"That's nice." 

Side-tracked from the horrors of dance-clubs, their mother settled herself into inquistor-mode. 

"Is he married? Does he have a good job at the FBI?" 

Oh, Jesus... Doggett closed his eyes briefly. This was going to be horrible. 

"I think John said he was divorced," Sal offered, glancing at Doggett,waiting for comment. 

"Oh dear." His mother didn't hold much truck with divorce. As Doggett had found to his cost. 

"He's a pretty good guy, actually," he said, without thinking, wanting to prove some kind of point with his mother. 

"Really?" 

"And he's an Assistant Director." 

"Oh..." 

Looking up at his mother's tone, Doggett felt his heart drop. She had 'interesting' and 'tell me more' written all over her face. And wedding plans mapped out in her head. Shit. 

"He's too old for Sal," Doggett said quickly. 

"You think?" Betty Doggett frowned. "These May/December things came sometimes work well." 

Doggett rolled his eyes. 

"Ma... He's even older than me." 

"He's kinda sexy though," Sal giggled. 

Doggett pulled a face at her. 

"Don't you think, Johhny?" 

What was she doing? As he stared, she tilted her head towards their mother, ever so slightly. Tell them, she was saying. Doggett shook his head, equally slightly. No way. Not now. Sal grinned. Chicken. Doggett widened his eyes. Absolutely. 

"Gloria Pearsall's husband was very much older. You remember her, don't you, John? She took you for those algebra lessons." 

Doggett was sincerely grateful he wasn't drinking when she said that. He was sure it would've gone clean across the room. 

"Yeah. I remember her." He struggled to keep his face straight. Betty clucked. "Real nice lady." 

He wondered how his mother would feel about Mrs. Pearsall if he told her what else she had taken her son for. 

"So. D'you think you'll see this..." Betty clicked her fingers. "What was his name again?" 

"Walter Skinner," Sal supplied. 

Doggett swallowed, convulsively. 

"Well, d'you think you'll see him again?" 

Sal shook with silent laughter beside him. 

He could cheerfully have strangled her. 

"You talkin' to me or Johnny?" 

"Sarah..." Their mother growled. 

"Oh, I don't know. I'm sure I'll see him again sometime..." She looked at Doggett's creased face. "He is a friend of John's, after all. But I don't know if I'll be... You know," She held her fingers up and did the 'inverted commas' thing. "'Seeing' him." 

"That's a shame, dear." 

"Isn't it?" The shake of those shoulders again. 

Doggett ground his teeth. Oh, he was going to have words with her, when he got her alone... 

* * *

chapter 11. 

In the end, they told him. Actually, Scully went round to his condo and told him of their credit card discoveries, but kept very quiet about her other discovery. She figured that it was up to John to tell Skinner about whatever it was that had gone on between the two men in the showers. Or not. She didn't know whether she fancied being a fly on the wall when that little revelation hit the atmosphere. She also wondered if Doggett would be brave enough to spill it. She guessed that unless she sprouted several more pairs of legs and wings, she'd never know for sure. Not that it was any of her business. But it would be handy to know if she needed to get that plane ticket for Mulder. 

"And you cleared this with the top floor?" she asked. 

Skinner nodded, piling papers in to a briefcase. "Yes. Told them I needed emergency personal leave." He looked up at Scully as the irony of his words hit him. They smiled at each other. 

"And John's resignation?" 

"Shelved," came the short reply. "Until I know one way or the other." 

"Good." 

Without spilling the beans, she needed to know that the AD wasn't going to accept the rash act. She was sure Doggett hadn't meant it. She hoped he hadn't. 

"Kim's going to 'lose' it until I get word to her." 

The look on Scully's face made him smile. The question was written all over her. 

"No... She doesn't know. She just thinks I'm being a good boss." 

Scully nodded, wondering if Skinner was deluding himself about that. 

Skinner jerked his head. "Where's your other half?" 

"Please... Don't." Scully pulled a face. 

"Sorry." 

"He's..." 

Chicken? Scared shitless? Hiding? 

"He's researching something, I think." 

"Oh." Skinner accepted that, finished clearing his desk, then looked up, hands on hips. 

"Okay. I'm set." 

"Tickets?" 

He patted his hip pocket. "Got 'em." 

"Rental?" 

"Organised." 

"You decide against phoning first?" 

He nodded. "I want the chance to talk to him. If I tell him I'm coming, he might run." Or talk you out of it, Scully thought. 

Scully looked at him standing in the middle of his lounge, hesitating, looking decidedly nervous. 

She took a step nearer. "Walt?" 

He nodded. "Yeah?" 

She smiled. "I'm sure it's going to be okay." 

God, he looked miserable. How could anyone so big and tough look so whipped? 

He gave her a little smile. "I hope so." 

Men. Who said they were the stronger sex? 

She held out her arms. "C'mere." 

Never mind he had years on her. Never mind he was her boss. Never mind anything. Someone needed a hug. 

For a moment, his eyebrows rocketted up, then a small smile crept over his face and he stepped forward into her arms. 

"Thank you, Agent Scully," he said, bending ridiculously low to wrap his arms around her. 

"My pleasure, sir." 

And it was. He smelled really good, and felt even better. All in all, if he wasn't... She cleared that thought from her head. Let's not go there. Life was complicated enough. 

Stepping reluctantly back, Scully smoothed her clothes back into place and organised the look on her face. 

"Okay, then." 

He nodded, pulling the hem of his his navy crew-neck, in a very Captain Picard way. It made her smile. 

"You'll let me know..." She waved a hand. "Whenever." 

"I will. And thank you again." 

"No need." She nodded. "I just hope everything's.... You know." 

He nodded too. "I know. So do I." 

* 

They spent the next couple of hours watching the television in companiable silence. Doggett was grateful for the respite. He found he was tired, after all. More to the point, he didn't fancy negotiating any more verbal minefields with either of his parents. So he allowed himself to be lulled by the drone of his mother's favourite shows. She loved all the old British programmes on PBS. They didn't do much for him, but he supposed they were harmless enough. No real sex or violence, so that suited his mom okay. Doggett was sure England wasn't really like this. Some of the fashions looked twenty years out of date for a start. He could feel his eyelids drooping, but for once, he didn't fight it. It felt good to relax and let go somewhere so familiar. 

"Go to bed, Johnny." 

His mother's voice fought its way into his head. 

"Wha...?" Wrenching his lids up, he gazed around blearily. 

"Bed." 

"I'm jus' restin' my eyes," he lied, rubbing his face. 

"If you need to do that, then you should go on up." 

Beside him, Sal dug her elbow into his ribs. 

Standard joke. 

No-one was allowed to doze in the Doggett lounge. Clear indication of the need for an early night. 

He smiled, and immediately yawned. 

Sal tittered. 

"Okay...okay. I know when I'm beaten." He stretched out. "I'm goin'." 

"You can walk me to my car before you turn in," Sal told him, getting up from the sofa and gathering the empty mugs. 

"I can?" 

"Yep." She bent to kiss the top of their father's head. "Night, Daddy. See you tomorrow." 

She kissed their mother, then grabbed his hand and heaved him up. 

"God you're a lump!" 

Doggett grinned as they walked through to the kitchen. "Thought you said I was skinny?" 

She gave him a wicked grin. "Ah... You forget, I've seen you naked." 

"Jeez, Sal..." He covered his face with his free hand. 

She laughed delightedly, as they wandered through the yard to her car. 

"How long you stayin', sweetheart?" 

He shrugged. "Dunno. A few days, I guess." 

"'Til she drives you mad, you mean." 

"Somethin' like that," he laughed. 

He stretched and stared up into the clear dark sky. 

Doggett sighed, watching a plane blink its way across the horizon. That was how it always was, wasn't it? 

"I hope not," he said. "I hope I'm old enough not to let her press my buttons any more." 

Sal rubbed her hand up his arm. "So do I. Life's too short, babe." 

He looked down at her. Funny. He spent years wanting to chop her into little pieces, but now... 

"Guess what?" he said. 

"You're gay?" 

Doggett laughed outright at her sharp response. 

"Apart from that, you little miscreant." 

She fished her keys from her purse and swung them around a finger. 

"What's that then?" 

He tipped her chin up with his thumb. 

"I love you." 

The keys slowly came to rest in her hand as she looked up at him. He smiled. Made a change for him to render her speechless. She looked down at her feet, then back up to his face. 

"Yeah?" 

He nodded, shrugging. "Go figure." 

Raising a fist, she bopped him gently on the arm. "Thanks, doofus. You're not so bad, yourself." 

He hugged her for a long time, watching as that plane winked out of sight. He nearly told her. He very nearly opened his mouth and said he and Walt were most likely finished. And that he'd done something so stupid he might actually go to jail. But the moment passed. He just watched as Sal got into her car and waved as she drove off in a cloud of dust. And with one last glance up at the sky, he sighed and went inside to bed. 

* * *

chapter 12. 

The insistant bleep of her phone brought Sal running back from her front door into the kitchen. Two more seconds, and she'd have missed it. She snatched up the receiver. 

"Yeah?" 

"Is that Miss Doggett's residence?" 

Sal's eyebrows shot up. Shit, this had better not be one of her student's parents, complaining to her on a Saturday. It's be the shortest phone call in the history of parental complaints, if it was. 

"Yes. This is she." 

"Ah..." The voice on the other end of the phone hesitated. Sal rolled her eyes. If this was a pervert, then he was a real crappy one. 

"Look, mister. I'm in a rush, so if you're gonna do the heavy breathin' shit on me, I'd appreciate it if you'd just get it over with, so you can clean up, and I can go out." 

A deep chuckle rattled down the line. 

"Now I know I've got the right number." 

Sal frowned. That voice... Sounded familiar. 

"Is that..." She gaped at the phone in her hand. "Walt!! That you?" 

"Yes, ma'am. It is." 

Sal squealed in delight. "Well how about that! Walt Skinner, you sexy beast! Fancy you callin' me!" She grinned, her mind busy looking at all the images of Walter Skinner she gleaned from her stay with John. 

"Yeah. " He paused again. "Look, Sal. I need to talk with you. Is that okay?" 

Sal shrugged. "Sure, fire away." 

"Um... Can we meet up, someplace?" 

Laughing, Sal shook her head. "Washington is a little far for my Pinto, Walt." 

"No... It's okay. I'm in town. Can we get together?" 

Sal stared at her receiver, mouth agape, eyes bulging. What was she hearing? 'Can we get together?' Was that what she thought it was? And much as she got off on the idea of taking the sexy Mr. Skinner in hand, there was no way she was going to do that behind John's back. And there was no way she'd let Skinner do it, either. Let's cut to the chase, she thought. Cards on the table. 

"Hey, Walter. You comin' on to me, big guy?" 

That glorious chuckle slipped into her ear again. 

"I'm sorry, to disappoint you, Sal. I just need to talk." 

Satisfied, but vaguely uneasy, Sal nodded. 

"Good job. I'd have to kick your big old ass for cheatin' on my brother, if you were." 

The chuckle she expected didn't materialise. That was ominous. 

"Walt? Is everything okay?" 

A memory kicked in. 

"I thought you were at work?" She waved a hand. "Up to your eyeballs." 

"Is that what John told you?" 

Oh-oh. 

"Yeah. It is." Something was very wrong here. "He lied, didn't he?" 

Skinner sighed down the line. 

"I need to talk in person, Sal. I can't do this on the phone." 

A snake of dread uncoiled in Sal's belly. This didn't sound good at all. 

"Sure. Where are you?" 

"At the Motel by Mervyn's Plaza. Room 217." 

"Okay. I know it." She picked up her backpack. "I'll be there in fifteen." 

Replacing the phone, Sal ran a hand through her hair. Shit. This was bad. Good job she didn't tell her mother what time she'd be getting over today. Looked like she was going to be late. 

* 

He hadn't fed the chickens for what felt like a thousand years, but funny -it all came straight back to him. The chucking noises in his throat, the feel of the feed in his hand and the fact that he fucking hated hens with a passion. Vile, nasty, pecking little fuckers. And they stank. Doggett screwed up his face. 

"Here y'go, you feathery bastards." He muttered, scattering the feed. 

"I hope ya choke." 

It had been the bane of his childhood, feeding these things. As a boy he'd been terrified of their spiteful-looking faces, with their sharp beaks and their mean temperaments. Now he was grown, he still viewed them with a mixture of fear and loathing. It'd take wild horses for him to admit such a thing, but they gave him the serious willies. Which was why he settled very happily in big cities. You didn't get many chickens in New York, or Washington. 

The creak of the kitchen window made him turn round. 

"See if there are any eggs, will you, Johnny?" 

Shit. Doggett threw the pan down and glared into the sunshine. 

"I thought you checked earlier?" 

"You never know." The window banged shut. End of discussion. 

Damn. Damn. Damn. He looked at the henhouse with distaste. Dark, stinky shit hole. The weekend just kept getting better. 

* 

Sal knocked on 217, her stomach fluttering. Wondering what she was walking in to. 

"Hi." Walt opened the door, smiling. 

"Hi yourself." She stepped into the room, swinging her bag off her shoulder. She turned around to face the big man, arms wide. 

"What? No hug?" she grinned. 

Skinner laughed softly. "Demanding, aren't you?" 

"Better believe it." She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. 

"I'm entitled to get hugs from my in-laws." She felt the chest under her cheek stiffen as she said the words and she knew she'd been bang-on. Something was wrong. 

Giving one last little squeeze, she pulled away and looked him in the face. 

"So why don't you tell me why you're sitting in a Motel, and John's home trying to play nice with our parents?" 

Skinner raised his eyebrows and blew out a lungful of air. 

"You don't mess about, do you?" 

She shook her head. "No. Not when I know something's wrong." 

He moved to sit on one of the chairs. "It's that obvious?" Nodding, Sal sat on the edge of the bed, opposite him. "Yep. It is." 

Skinner ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking every minute of his age. She watched as sighing, he let his hand flop into his lap. He stared at the floor. 

"He left me." 

No. Absolutely not. Sal shook her head. 

"No way." 

"It's true. He walked out of his place on Thursday. No note, no phone call. Just packed a bag and walked away." 

She lifted her hand. "Maybe he just... I don't know. Wanted a vacation?" She watched him shake his head. 

"Handed in his resignation." 

She felt her mouth drop "What?" 

Skinner nodded. "Threw his badge and gun on my desk." 

"Fuckin' hell..." she whispered. 

"Yeah." 

They stared at one another for several minutes. 

"Why?" 

A shrug of large sholders. "Beats me. As far as I knew, things were okay." 

"With work?" 

"Sure, with work. But with us, too." 

Sal nodded. "No fights?" 

Skinner gave a wry smile. "No fights. We've never really gone at it like that." 

Sal grinned, the image of the two men wrapped around each other burst into her mind. 

"I bet," she said, tickled to see a slow creep of colour in Walt's face. 

"Look, Walt..." she held her hand up before he made any comment. 

"John didn't say anything about this to me last night. Which kinda surprises me. My guess is that something's happened to make him fly off half-cocked..." 

They grinned at one another at her words. 

"He has a hell of temper, sometimes." 

"So he tells me." 

"So I bet something, or someone set him off." 

Skinner frowned. 

"Actually... 'Someone' is right." 

"Oh yeah?" 

He sighed. "Mulder." 

Sal sat back and thought about the man she'd met in the Hoover Building. 

"Ah," she said at last. 

"Yeah. 'Ah'." 

"What did he do?" 

"Kissing him, is all he'll admit to." 

Sal blew a loud raspberry. "Christ! Is he nuts? John isn't his biggest fan." 

"Tell me about it." 

Sal shook her head. "Major mistake." 

"All I know is John's taken off." 

"And he's gonna regret it, sooner or later. Trick is, to make it sooner rather than later." 

Skinner nodded slowly."U-huh. You think he'd be willing to speak with me?" 

"Are you nuts? Course he would." 

"I don't know..." 

She rolled her eyes. "Jeez, Walt. He loves you." 

Skinner looked at her with an expression of such miserable hope, that it almost broke her heart. 

She reached over and took one of his hands. "Hey. Trust me. I'm a grade-school teacher..." 

He smiled slightly. 

"John loves you. I saw it in his face last night, when I asked after you." 

Skinner sighed. "I hope you're..." 

"Trust me." 

She gave his fingers a squeeze then sat back. "Okay. Now all we need is a plan." 

"I was wondering about just turning up at your parents." 

She pulled a face. 

"You think that's a bad idea?" 

"Not one of the best." 

"Why?" 

"Have you read Lord of the Rings?" 

He looked at her blankly. "Yes," he said, eventually. 

"Our mother was the inspiration for Shelob." 

Dark eyebrows rose. "Oh. Right." 

Sal pursed her lips. "Tell you what... I could lure him here." She grinned. 

"That'd work." 

He looked at her doubtfully. "Isn't he going to wonder why his sister wants to take him to a motel?" 

Sal laughed. "Oh, Walter! You have a dirty mind!" 

He blushed furiously. 

Leaning forward again to pat him on the shoulder, she clucked in her throat. 

"Baby, I could always tell him I was pickin' something up from a friend." 

"I suppose." 

He was still studying the floor between his feet with exaggerated interest, the back of his neck still glowing. 

Sal shook her head. What a sweetheart. If John didn't make it up with this man in two seconds flat, she was gonna seriously hurt her big brother. 

* * *

chapter 13. 

By the time Sal arrived for lunch, Doggett was in a pretty scrappy mood. It had taken him two washes to get the stink of henhouse off his hands. Not an easy task with one of his mother's bandages on. And he didn't want to discuss the peck he'd gotten from the rooster as he backed out of the shed. All for two damned eggs which weren't going to be used until tomorrow. 

She'd insisted on putting another dressing on him, no sooner had he ripped the first one off. 

"Think of the germs in a yard, Johnny." she'd said, not giving him any choice in the matter. She fussed and clucked as much as one of those fucking hens. And the hand bandage had led to her being 'that' close to wanting him to take all his clothes off so she could check him all over after his recent hospitalisation. Like that was gonna happen in this lifetime. 

"I'm just peachy, Ma," he'd insisted, backing away across the kitchen, calculating how long it would take to grab his keys and flee. Sal had saved him by honking her horn outside. 

"She driven you bat-shit, yet?" she whispered as he helped her unload groceries out of the trunk. 

Doggett grunted. "Almost." He lifted the bag of canned goods. "Damn woman wanted me to strip to inspect my poor body." He glared at her. 

"No thanks to you, I might add." 

"Prob'ly just wants to powder your bee-hind," Sal laughed. 

He grunted. Dreadful thing was, she probably did. Being as he was trapped in her eyes at age two. Three on a good day. He followed Sal into the house, arms loaded up. 

"So, what're you gonna do with yourself the rest of the visit?" 

Doggett looked up from his meal to his father, his fork poised halfway to his mouth. Wonders would never cease - he'd switched himself on without being shouted at. He swallowed his mouthful. 

"Well, I guess I'll take a look around town..." 

He dad grunted into his plate. "Not much to see there." 

"Maybe so. But it'd be kinda nice to hook up with the place again." 

"Just you make sure you check out the new football grounds. It's come on a long way since you played." 

Doggett nodded. "I will." 

Across the table, Sal cleared her throat. 

"Actually, John, I've got to go to the mall to pick something up. Maybe you'd like to come with me? Save your gas?" 

Doggett looked across at her and shrugged. 

"Sure. Why not?" 

"Cool." She turned. "Is there anything you want me to pick up for you, Mama? I'm going past Neilson's." 

"Some more yeast wouldn't go a miss," she said. "And some of his fancy coffee." 

"No problem. We'll go after we wash up." 

* 

After helping Sal dry the dishes, Doggett slipped his arms in a light shirt. 

"You ready?" he asked Sal. 

"Sure thing. Just let me pay a visit." 

Perched on the edge of the table, Doggett folded his arms and watched his mother make coffee. 

"Sure you don't want to stop for one?" she asked. 

He shook his head. "Uh-uh. I think Sal needs to get off," he lied. What he meant, was he could do with escaping for an hour or so. Longer, if he could persuade Sal to go to the big shopping mall outside of town. His mother thrust the blue mug at him. 

"You go on and take this out to your Daddy." 

Obediently, Doggett carried the steaming coffee across the yard to the barn, where, judging by the noise, was where his father was going at something with a hammer. He pushed open the big door, squinting into the gloom. 

"Hey," he called. "Coffee." 

It took his eyes a second to adjust. 

"Daddy? Where you at?" 

The hammer sounded as if it was thrown down. 

"Here." 

Doggett picked his way over to the old cowstall. 

"You want this?" he asked. 

"Put it on the stool, would you?" 

Doggett set the mug down, glancing at the old water pump laid out on the bench. 

"You trying to fix that old thing, again?" 

His dad shook his head. "Uh-uh. Long past fixin', that." Doggett opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, when it came to him. He was hiding out. He stood for a moment, grinning, wondering if he should let the old man know he was busted. Maybe not. Let him keep the pretense intact. 

"So. Why you here, John?" 

"I brought your drink," he replied, nodding at the stool. His father sighed. 

"No. I mean, why are you here?" 

The penny dropped. Ah. 

"I thought I'd just drop by to see you and Ma. That okay?" 

He did his level best to keep the lie from his voice. Staring back at him, his father leaned against the wall, pulling nails from the pouch of his workman's belt. He doubted his level best was good enough. The old man used to be able to tell when he was lying, with his back turned, and in the dark. Doggett matched his stare, blue eyes into blue. He wondered what else he'd inherited from the old man, besides the eyes and the terrible ears. 

"Your mother worries about you." He nodded. "I know." 

Do you? He asked inside his head. Do you worry about me? The question was on the tip of his tongue. But he had a sneaking feeling that if he asked that question, it'd lead to a whole lot of things he wasn't sure he could handle. 

"You should call her more often." 

Doggett sighed.. He really wanted to say that he already called as often as he could, but knew from long experience that it wasn't worth the argument.. 

"Yes, sir. I'll try." 

Doggett senior grunted, throwing nails onto the workbench. 

"Try harder, John." 

Doggett felt his blood rise. 

"What d'you want from me, Daddy?" 

His father just looked at him. 

"You gotta tell me, cause I don't know, I swear I don't." 

More nails bounced across the bench in the silence. 

Doggett had a tiny feeling that he was reacting way out of proportion, that his behaviour was totally out of order for the situation, but he could feel his control slipping through his fingers like warm frogspawn. And there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. 

"Jesus Christ, there must be something I'm doin' wrong - you always seem to be disappointed in me." 

"Is that what you think?" 

Doggett scowled. 

"Yeah, well..." It wasn't - not really, but he was angry and his father was in the firing line. 

"I'm sorry you think that, John." 

"I'll bet. And while we're havin' this little chat, I just wanna say that I'm quite happy being skinny, thank you. I don't need to bulk up, I don't need to layer muscle and I fuckin' HATE bananas!" He could hear himself shouting, feel his fists balled up. 

"You 'bout done shouting at me?" 

"Maybe, maybe not." Beligerant, spoiling for a fight. How was it his father managed to make him like this? Practise and a guilty fucking conscience, Doggett thought grimly. That's how. 

Jack shook his head. 

"I'm not disappointed in you, son. Never have been." He put the hammer on the bench and shrugged. 

"Not by the way you are, or by the way you look. If anything, I'm real proud of the way you turned out." 

Doggett's stomach lurched. Shit. He felt ill with the sense of disappointment in himself. Seems he hadn't learned a thing, despite thinking he was a grown-up. And it was glaringly obvious that while he'd inherited his father's looks, it was his mother's nasty a temper that let him down. But instead of learning from her mistakes, he continued to allow himself to be dragged all over the place by it. Doggett turned away, running his hand over his head. Shit. For the second time in as many days, he felt like a complete and utter shit. 

* * *

chapter 14. 

"Did the pair of you end up goin' at it?" Sal asked, turning her car onto the main drag. Doggett shook his head. 

"No. It was weird. I stood and waited for him to land one on me for shoutin' at him - for speakin' to him with no respect, but he just stared at me and walked away." 

Sal reached over and patted his leg. "Maybe he's finally come round the idea that punchin' your lights out doesn't actually have any effect." 

Doggett snorted. "He's sure taken a long time to reach that conclusion." 

She grinned. "Excactly how old are you?" 

Doggett shook his head. "Too fuckin' old to be thinking of gettin' into a fist-fight with my father." 

"I don't think there's an age-restriction on fighting with your parents." 

Doggett sighed. "I don't want to fight with him..." He smiled at Sal's incredulous expression. 

"Really. I don't. I just..." He hesitated, as the truth was suddenly sadly obvious. 

"I just don't know how to talk to him. To either of them." He sighed. 

The streets rushed by as Doggett stared out of his window, both shocked and liberated by what he'd just admitted. As the car signalled to turn into the mall parking area, he looked over to his sister. 

"What's wrong with me, Sal?" 

Pulling into a parking bay, Sal hit the park slot and switched off the engine. 

She stared out of the windshield for a while, not saying anything. 

She smiled. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you, John." 

"You sure?" 

"Well, you're a hot-headed, short-tempered perfectionist," 

Doggett winced. 

"But apart from that, you're pretty much okay." 

"Thanks..." 

He tilted his head. "You really think that?" 

"Which bit?" 

He lifted his hand. "The bad-tempered bit." 

"I said 'short-tempered', not bad tempered.' 

"There's a difference?" 

She smiled and took his hand, squeezing it. "The difference is between you wanting to punch Daddy, and actually doing it." 

He looked at her. 

"I never thought of it like that." 

"There y'go, then." 

He sat for a moment then sighed. 

"Y'know, Walt used to get on really great with both his folks." 

"Used to?" 

"Both dead." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that, in a car wreck." 

"That's a shame." 

He nodded. "Uh-huh. Thing is, I know he still misses them like crazy. It's been more 'an a year, now. Before we got together, but he still grieves." 

"And your point is?" 

He stared at her, wondering if he should actually say what was playing on his mind. 

She nodded, as if understanding his reluctance. "Go on." 

"I wish I knew I was gonna feel that way, when ours are gone." 

"Ah." 

They sat quietly. 

After a while, Sal sighed. 

"You can't help what you don't feel, John." 

"Yeah, but..." 

"But nothing. You can't spend your life agonising about a relationship that's not what the story books tell you it's supposed to be. Either change it or get over it." 

"That's a little harsh, don't you think?" 

"That's life," she replied, shrugging. "Shit happens and all that. One way or another, don't let it grind you down." 

Doggett looked at her, amazed that she was taking his confession so calmly. 

"When did you get so wise?" 

She laughed. "While you were ran away to the Marines and left me to fend for myself." 

"Yeah." He pulled a face. "Sorry 'bout that." 

"Whatever. No big deal. Now look..." She rummaged in her purse. 

"Come with me, while I collect something, will you?" 

He grinned, getting out of the car. "What? The wise woman can't managed a little bitty package?" 

"Who said it's little?" She grinned at him over the hot, shiny roof. "C'mon, butch." 

Doggett followed her across the asphalt, weaving between the cars. He looked up at the big 6 on the sign. 

"What you gettin' from a motel, Sal? Drugs or somethin'?" 

"Maybe," answered over her shoulder, making sure he was following. 

Doggett shook his head. She was a smart-ass. He never knew when she was joking. Which was worrying. 

Slipping the keys into the lock of 217, Sal pushed the door open and waved at him. 

"Go on in." 

Doggett shook his head. "Ladies first." He held the door. 

"John... I'm no lady - I'm your sister." 

He laughed. "Get in with you." 

Sal hovered, unsure whether to press the point. She'd wanted to get John inside ahead of her, so she could bar the door, when he caught sight of Walt and bolted. Now his damned good manners threatened to blow her plan. 

She sighed. 

"You're not gonna go first, are you?" 

Doggett shook his head. "Uh-uh." 

She rolled her eyes and sighed again. "You're a pain, Dogbreath," she told him, stepping into the cool room. 

"Better believe it," he agreed, grinning and following her in. 

* * *

chapter 15. 

It wasn't the squeal of tires Doggett was unable to get out of his head. It wasn't his sister's scream, and it wasn't the blast of the car horn. It was the noise Walt's body made when it hit the tarmac. That was the sound that echoed in his mind as he sat with his head in his hands and his ass in a cold plastic chair in the hospital corridor. He'd be hearing that sound in his dreams. 

He moaned quietly into his hands, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough to make sparkly lights pop up behind his lids. Shit. He couldn't stop the whole thing re-winding and playing. Frame by fucking frame. 

"John!" 

Sal's shout at his back as he strode out across the car park. He had been so angry - so fucking angry at her, he couldn't trust himself to stop and have anything like a civilized conversation. He's just stalked away, trying to get as much space as he could between the three of them. 

Skinner crying out to him: "John, wait...Please!" 

That hurt. Doggett dug his hands into his face. Shit, he'd thought hearing the anguish in that voice had hurt enough. But that didn't hurt nearly as much as hearing the sounds that came next. 

Sal's high-pitched squeal had halted his steps, the screech of tires had yanked his head around, but the sound of the strong body he loved, hitting the asphalt had been the catalyst that got him moving. He remembered running back across the car park, his hips and legs bumping cars as he weaved in and out, desperate to get there, yet dreading seeing what had happened. The taste of copper in his throat, his heart hammering, panic slamming about in his head. Slow-motion running to the car with it's windshield as shattered as his nerves. Both knees bruising as he'd slid into touch beside Sal on unforgiving tarmac. Unforgiving for his knees. More so for Skinner. He had bounced right off the car, over the roof and onto the ground, landing with a grunt that Doggett had heard 50 yards away. 

"Oh Jesus..." he'd whispered, horrified eyes taking in the crumpled heap. 

And now, sitting numb-assed in the waiting area, he screwed up his already tightly closed eyes and prayed silently to a God he didn't believe in any more. Asked for forgiveness for his stupid behaviour. Pleaded for Skinner to be okay. Begged to be allowed another chance. 

"John?" 

Doggett nodded silently, not finished making his bargains. 

Sal sat down next to him. "How y'doin' sweetheart?" 

Blowing out a breath, Doggett didn't bother to answer. He was sure she could take an educated guess from his reaction at the roadside. 

It was the sight of the broken glasses lying in the gutter that had made him lose it. The sense of abject terror had staggered him and he suddenly didn't care what anyone else thought of this crazy man screaming at the figure lying so still. He remembered leaning over Skinner, knowing enough not to move him, but unable to help touching. He had run his hands over his face, horrified at the the bite of grit, the slick of blood. Feeling his way down that hard body, searching for protruding bone, all the while making a crazy keening noise that hurt his own ears. 

How the paramedics had got him away, he had absolutely no idea. His memory couldn't seem to get past the first glimpse of Skinner lying with one arm bent under him, his eyes closed. The rip under the arm of his shirt was probably where they had dragged him away. 

He felt Sal's arm slide around his shoulders. 

"Hey, it'll be okay." 

Doggett pulled his hands away from his face and looked at her. 

"Y'think?" He was trying for sarcastic, but he imagined it sounded more like a pathetic plea. 

She gave him a squeeze. "I do. He's strong. And he didn't lose consciousness. I'm sure he's gonna be fine." 

No. He didn't lose consciousness. That much he remembered. His eyes had opened when John had started to touch him. And amazingly, he had smiled. His face was filthy from the road, scraped bloody, but he had smiled. That sight had ripped John's guts and reassured him in equal measure. 

"His arm's broken," he told her, although he knew she already knew that by the way Skinner had groaned as they put him on the stretcher. 

"I know," she said. "But it'll mend." 

Doggett scrubbed at his face. Broken bones mended. Broken lives didn't. He sighed. "I've really done it now, haven't I?" The arm around his shoulders gave him a shake. "No, doofus. Everything's going to be fine. Walt'll get out of the hospital, the two of you'll sit down and talk, then everything'll be just like it was." He doubted that. When Walt heard what fool thing he'd done, the shit'd hit the fan, big time. 

"Yeah," he said, without conviction. 

Sharp footsteps plinked their way towards them and Doggett dragged his gaze reluctantly off the floor. 

"Are you here with Walter Skinner?" 

Doggett nodded back, his throat suddenly tight. 

"He's going to be kept in overnight, but should be fine to be released in the morning. I take it you'll be looking after him?" 

"That's right," Sal agreed. "He'll be coming home with us." 

"You're family?" 

Doggett swallowed. No. They weren't family. That's why he was out here and Skinner was somewhere in there, being seen to, all alone. Not that he deserved to be sitting with him. Not after what he'd done. Not after getting him run over. 

"Yes," Sal told the nurse. "He's my brother-in-law." 

Doggett turned his head to stare at her. 

She stared defiantly back. 

"I'll get you the release forms, then." Plinking away, the nurse disappeared. 

"Brother-in-law?" Doggett echoed. 

Sal shrugged. "That way, the different names won't get anyone in a hissy. Beside..." She reached to run her fingers through Doggett's messy hair 

"He's as good as, isn't he?" 

* * *

chapter 16. 

"Oh, my Lord!" Betty Doggett clutched her apron. "Is he going to be alright?" 

Sal nodded, stirring the tea. 

"Yeah. He's bruised real bad and he fractured his arm, but the doctors are lettin' him out in the morning." 

Doggett was grateful for both the hot sweet tea and Sal's willingness to ask as spokesperson. He was all washed out. 

"Poor lamb." Betty clucked to herself for a moment, stirring her tea, unusually quiet. 

Doggett wondered what that meant. Shit. He knew what that meant. She was thinking. That steel-trap mind was currently chewing over the information. He wondered how long it.... 

"What on earth is he doing in our little town?" 

There we go, Doggett thought. That didn't take long. 

"Um..." 

"It's an awfully long way from Washington." 

It sure was. 

Sal glanced over at Doggett, a look of helplessness on her face. 

"Maybe he's come callin' on someone," Betty pursed her lips, looking pointedly over at Sal. 

She blushed, biting her lip. 

"Mama..." 

"Makes sense, him comin' all the way down here. Had to have a real good reason to want to visit a place like this." 

Doggett stared down into his mug, not wanting to meet his mother's eyes right at that moment. 

"Y'never know, Sal," Betty poked, relentlessly. "Maybe he was taken by you, when you stayed with John." 

He was taken by someone, alright, Doggett thought. Only not Sal. 

"Oh, Mama. Don't. There's a hundred reasons why he was passin' through." She pushed her mug away, sighing. "Whatever, it's not important. It's just a shame he got hurt, is all." 

"I agree. That's why you must bring the poor man here. He should stay with us while he gets his strength up." 

Oh Christ. Doggett looked up at his mother, recognising her 'take-charge' voice. Walt. Here? He didn't think he could deal with that. 

"I'll certainly ask him," Sal said. She glanced sideways at Doggett. "What d'you think, John?" 

"I..." His brain wasn't working fast enough to think up a sensible answer. It was still busy listening to that sequence of terrible noises. 

"I won't take any argument." Betty folded her arms over her chest. 

"The poor man is hurt, in a strange town. I insist he comes here." 

Sal grinned, looking at Doggett. 

He raised an eyebrow at her. They both knew Ma Doggett was already racing ahead with her assumptions. Conclusions had not only been jumped at when Sal told her Walt was in town, they'd been dressed in satin and shoved down the aisle. God help them. 

"What kind of dumb-ass fool runs in front of a car, anyway?" Jack Doggett snorted from over by the sink. 

"Must have the brains of a ground-squirrel." 

Doggett felt the tendons in his neck creak as he turned to look at his father in disbelief. 

"Oh, Daddy..." Sal jumped in, resting her hand on Doggett's arm as she turned to face her father. "It was an accident." 

"You be nice, now, y'hear?." Betty wagged her finger. "These things happen." His father chuckled. "Only to dumb-ass rodents." 

Doggett stood up so fast his chair rocked back against the cupboard. He glared at his father, hands bunched, belly churning. 

"Why've you gotta say things like that, huh?" he snapped. 

"It was a joke, John," Jack said with exaggerated patience. "Just a bit of fun." 

"Well, it just ain't funny, y'hear?" Doggett shouted. 

"Johnny..." 

Doggett turned to his mother. 

"What?" He pointed to the other man. "My friend gets hurt..." 

He took a deep breath and shook his head. Shit. He couldn't do this and keep his voice steady. Fuck it. 

"You know what? It doesn't matter." 

He stalked to the door. He needed to get out. He didn't trust himself. Not at the moment, when he felt like his insides were as scraped up as Walt's face. 

Sal called out to him. "John, wait.... Please." 

Doggett paused, his hand on the latch. The same words as Skinner used. Did she do that on purpose? He sighed, bone-weary. Damn it. 

"What?" 

"Please don't run off." The word, 'again' hung between them. 

He turned to give her a stare. 

"I was just gonna take a walk, okay?" Well, that was pretty much a lie. 

He was running off, they both knew it. They stared at one another. 

"Johnny?" 

Turning to glance at his mother, Doggett felt the anger drain out of him, leaving a bad taste behind. The Doggett Temper strikes again. 

"I insist you and Sal bring Mr Skinner to this house." She nodded towards Sal. "Your sister has told me real nice things about your friend. I'd like to meet him." 

Doggett wondered if she'd be so damned keen to meet his 'friend' if she knew how 'friendly' they really were. Probably not. He sighed. He seemed like he'd been doing a lot of that lately. 

"Okay, Ma." He nodded, reluctantly accepting the inevitable. Maybe it was time to stop running away from shit like this all the time. He was supposed to be a grown-up, after all. He ran his hand through his hair. 

"I'll bring him." 

"To stay?" 

Doggett swallowed. "Yeah, well. I'll ask." 

"Good." His mother sank back into her chair, an air of satsifaction settling around her. "It'll be real nice to have a house-guest." 

Don't count on it, Doggett thought, glancing over to where his father stood, fiddling with his pocket watch. It might be a real brief visit. 

* * *

chapter 17. 

Standing in the hospital corridor, Doggett experienced an overwhelming desire to say, fuck it - and run. Ridiculous, but his feet were refusing to take him through the door that would lead to what he knew was going to be one hell of a conversation. He'd fought in places dirtier than these antiseptic halls, without this overwhelming feeling of dread. Jesus, he was a chickenshit. Frightened to death of talking to another man. 

"John..." Sal turned from the doorway. "Come on, sweetheart." She smiled. "It's only Walt." 

Doggett huffed. "Yeah. That's the problem." 

She reached out and hooked his hand. "Hey - I'll keep you safe." smiling, Doggett squeezed her hand. 

"You'd better," he replied, reluctantly following her with his breakfast jumping up and down in his belly. 

"Oh, hush, now." Sal pushed the door open with one hand, dragging Doggett after her with the other. 

"Hi, Walt!" she called cheerfully. 

Safe behind Sal, Doggett looked over her shoulder to the bed, where Skinner was sitting, waiting. His face looked a lot better now it'd been cleaned up. He had scrapes and bruises, sure, but without the blood and dirt, it wasn't so bad. The sling made him wince, though. 

"Hi," Walt greeted them, raising his good hand. 

Doggett's heart lurched, seeing him grin. 

"So..." Walt said, tilting his head. "You must be my sister-in-law." He nodded. "Nice to meet you." 

Sal giggled. "Pretty good, huh? Thought they might not let me spring you, else." 

"I can live with that." He looked behind her. "Hey, John." 

Doggett felt his hand convulse in Sal's. 

"Hey." He cleared his throat. God, this was horrible. He felt like a total stranger. That and a total shit. Was this the bit where he was supposed to burst into tears and throw himself on the floor? Sorry, but that wasn't his style. He just jerked his head up. 

"How you doin'?" he asked, brusquely. 

Skinner shrugged one shoulder, his expression rueful. 

"Like I had a fight with a Camero." 

"You bet," Sal said, walking over and tipping his chin up. She winced. "This as painful as if looks?" 

"Dunno. I'm too chicken to peek in the mirror." 

She laughed. "Well, I think you've still got your looks, Mr. Skinner." Bending, she plopped a kiss on his forehead. 

"Don't you think, John?" 

Doggett swallowed. God, she was her mother's daughter. No mercy. 

"Looks okay," he said, giving nothing away. 

"I thought I'd skip shaving for a couple of days," Skinner said, passing a hand over his chin. "No sense in taking off what little skin I've got left." 

"Yeah..." Sal rubbed a finger over the slight stubble. "Shadow's all the rage now." She laughed. "Kinda makes you look dangerous." 

Skinner chuckled. 

"Oh, I'm real dangerous. I'll pick a fight with a hatch-back, any day." 

Standing with his hands stuffed defensively in his jeans, Doggett listened to the banter, unsure how he felt. He was torn between wanting to take the other man in his arms and wanting to walk out now, before either of them had the chance to hurt one another any more. Or more to the point, before he hurt Walt any more. 

"Okay, so let's get going then." Sal took Skinner by the hand and pulled him off the edge of the bed. 

"God! And I thought the Big Dog was a lump," she gasped, staggering. 

Skinner's eyes met Doggett's over the top of Sal's head and a look flashed between them. 

"Nah," he said, still holding her hand. "He's just a skinny-assed sack of shit." 

The words zinged into Doggett's ears, down his body to stab his guts. Christ. He closed his eyes, briefly, then looked up. They were both staring at him. Shit. He took his hands out of his pockets and held them out. Now was as good a time as any. 

"I'm sorry," he said, before he had chance to think of anything banal. 

Sal cleared her throat. 

"I think I'll go get the papers signed." 

Neither man spared her a glance as she slipped out of the door. 

There were a couple of heartbeats, and then Skinner stepped forward to stand in front of him. 

"So am I." 

Doggett frowned. "What the hell are you sorry for?" He did that funny one-shouldered shrug again. 

"Not being the kind of man you feel you can talk to." 

Shit. 

"Christ, Walt..." What the hell could he say to that? He opened his mouth, but was lost for a response. He watched Skinner's eyes track all the way up and down his body, as if re-assuring himself of Doggett's presence. When their eyes met, Doggett felt his insides shudder. 

"I missed you," Skinner told him at last. 

Not 'why the hell did you run out on me?' Not 'what the hell did you think you were doing, resigning?' No recriminations, no anger. Just... 'I missed you'. Doggett stared helplessly at the other man. He took a step closer, still silent, still too shaken for words. 

Skinner grinned "You know, I'd give you a hug, but, hey..." He held up his plastered arm. 

"Aw... Shit. C'mere." 

Doggett took the last step between them and looped both his arms around Skinner, careful to avoid crushing his sling between their chests. He rested his face into the warm shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent, tinged with antiseptic and hospital. He felt Skinner grab on to the back of his shirt with his free hand, their bodies closer, never mind that it must have hurt most all of his bruises. He gently rubbed Skinner's back and sighed with what felt like something near to contentment. There was a gentle brush of kiss at his cheek as they pulled apart at last. 

"I missed you too," he said, rubbing his hands up and down Skinner's biceps. 

"I should damn well think so." 

Doggett gave a little choke of laughter. He brought his thumb up to stroke over a scraped cheekbone. 

"We need to talk," he said. 

"That we do," Skinner agreed, leaning into the touch. 

* 

Pulling up in front of the house Doggett sat for a moment and waited while the dust settled. It hadn't taken much persuation to get Walt to check out of the motel and come back with them - he'd been pleased and flattered that the invitation even existed. Even after Sal kind of squirmed and admitted that their mother would be leaving back issues of Bridal Monthly lying around. 

"Here we are," he said, rather obviously. He climbed out, fetching Skinner's bag, while Sal fussed over the invalid, making sure he didn't bump his arm. Definately her mother's daughter. Over-developed nursing instincts. He followed behind them, amused at the level of clucking his sister imparted. 

"Well, hello and welcome!" Betty Doggett flung the door opened and waved them in. "Come on in, come in!" Sal guided Walt through, turning to wink at Doggett, trailing behind. 

"Here we go," she whispered. 

He just grunted and placed Walt's bag under the table. 

"Pleasure to meet you, Ma'am," Skinner said, extending his good hand. 

"Walter Skinner." 

"Well, charmed, I'm sure. I'm Betty, by the way - I hope you're feeling better?" Skinner nodded, taking the seat she pulled out for him. 

"I'm a lot better than I was yesterday," he replied, glancing at Doggett as he spoke. 

"I should say so. Terrible thing, that." A plate of home-made cookies appeared. 

"Here, you help yourself, now. What can I get you to drink? Tea? Coffee? Or maybe you'd prefer something a little stronger?" The words fell out in a torrent of hospitality, making Doggett smile. 

"No, thank you very much..." Walt looked a little stunned. "Tea would be fine. I have pain-meds, so I don't think I'd better have anything stronger." He smiled winningly at her. "It's a little early for me, anyhow, Ma'am." 

Betty twittered. "Oh, shoot! Call me Betty." 

Skinner nodded gravely, taking a cookie. "Betty." He bit into it and chewed slowly. 

"These are very good. Don't tell me you made them?" 

Oh, but he was the master, Doggett thought to himself, slipping into another chair. His mother was practically drooling over him. 

"Are you in much pain?" 

Skinner shook his head, swallowing. "A little. Not too much." 

Betty clucked, laying a hand on his good arm. 

"You should rest. That's best, after a shock." 

Skinner nodded gravely. 

"I will. Thank you again for your hospitality." 

Rolling his eyes, Doggett reached out and snagged a couple of cookies. 

"Now, Johnny!" Quick as lightening, Betty rapped the back of his hand. 

"Mind your manners! One at a time." 

Doggett grinned. "Yes, Ma." He went to put one back on the plate, making her squeal. 

"Don't you dare!" 

Laughing, he stuffed the two into his mouth at once, just to annoy her. 

His mother clucked disapprovingly. 

"Don't you pay him any mind, Walter. He's just showing off." 

Doggett choked on crumbs, feeling like a four-year-old. 

"Ma!" Across the table, he heard Skinner chuckle. 

Sal sat down next to Skinner. "Johnny always acts like a spoiled brat if he doesn't feel he's getting enough attention." 

Doggett wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the back of a hand. 

"Gee, thanks, sis." 

"Actually, I've always found John's behaviour to be..." Skinner hesitated, grinning. 

"Watch it, Skinner," Doggett warned him, pointing a crumby finger. 

"Perfectly agreeable," Skinner finished with a slight nod of the head. Next to him, Sal snorted and Doggett had to look away. 

"That's nice," Betty said, completely missing the sub-text. 

"I put you in the room at the front of the house," she continued, oblivious to the smothered laughter from her offspring. 

"It's a lovely sunny one. Sal's old room." 

"Thank you." 

"Where's Daddy?" Sal asked, leaning back in her chair. 

"Out in the barn," Betty said shortly, in the tone of voice that displayed her disapproval. 

"Oh." 

Striding across the kitchen, Betty Doggett flung open the door and grabbed a poker that had been leaning against the wall. 

Skinner cast a nervous glance at Doggett. 

"She's not going to...?" he whispered. 

Doggett grinned, shaking his head. 

"Just wait." 

Seconds later, the peace was shattered by a loud ringing, a clanging louder than any firetruck Skinner had ever heard. If he'd both hands in commission, he'd have covered his ears. As it was, he just winced. 

"What the hell?" 

"Daddy's early warning bell," Sal shouted above the din. 

"Early warning about what?" Skinner yelled back. 

Sal grinned. "If he ignores that racket, then he's in real trouble." 

The sound faded as Betty stalked back into the room, pink around the edges. 

"My apologies, Walter." 

Skinner nodded understandingly. There was a moment of silence, until with a crash of screen door, Jack Doggett appeared, fiddling with his ear. 

"What?" 

"John's friend is here," Betty said, smoothing her apron and waving at Skinner. 

"Oh..." 

Doggett watched his father limp over to where Skinner stood, wiping sawdust off his hands. 

"Pleased to meet you," he smiled. 

"Walter Skinner. It's a pleasure, sir." 

First hurdle over, thought Doggett. All I have to do now is think of how to break the news about the two of us. 

"You a military man?" Jack asked, sitting carefully. 

Doggett winced. Vietnam wasn't a great ice-breaker in his book. 

"Ex-Marine, sir. Now I'm career FBI like John." 

"Army, me. Might have stayed, but caught a bullet in the leg, the other side of D-Day." 

Skinner nodded. "I've been shot. No picnic." 

Jack nodded, pursing his lips. "You like football?" 

Sitting with his mouth slightly agape, Doggett looked back and forth as his father and Skinner drank tea, traded football stats, baseball scores and hockey stories. His dad had conducted more of conversation with Skinner in the last five minutes, than he'd had with Doggett in as many years. He wondered why that didn't make him feel angry or jealous. Look Ma, Dad's bonded with my boyfriend. He smiled into his mug. 

His mother had obviously reached at least half of the same conclusion. 

"Jack. You leave Walter be for the moment, It's time he got settled. He's had a hard day." She began to clear the mugs away, not leaving any room for argument. There was a stilted silence for a moment, then Doggett cleared his throat. 

"Hey, Skinner, you wanna hand up with that bag?" 

"John. Don't make fun..." his mother growled from over by the sink. 

His mouth fell open. "Whaddid I say?" 

Skinner grinned at him, holding the cast up. 

"A 'hand'?" 

"C'mon, I didn't mean it like that." 

Coming up behind, Betty tweaked the top of Doggett's ear. 

"Don't snip, Johnny. Just you run upstairs and show Walt his room." 

"Hey!" Doggett clapped his hand to his injured ear. 

"Ma... Must you do that?" 

She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What?" 

"Pullin' my damned ears!" 

"Mind your language, Johnny," Betty said, missing the point entirely. 

"There's no need to cuss. It's a sign of a poor vocabulary." 

Doggett grumbled, still rubbing the side of his head. 

"No wonder the damned things stick out so much..." 

"I heard that!" 

"Yes, Ma." 

Sighing as he bent to grab the holdall, Doggett glanced over at a grinning Skinner. 

"What're you laughin' at?" 

Skinner shook his head and grinned, following a still-muttering Doggett. 

"Nothing, John. Absolutely nothing at all." 

* * *

chapter 18. 

Skinner moved the curtains aside and looked out across the yard. 

"Nice view." 

On the edge of the bed, Doggett grunted in reply, pushing the holdall out of the way. 

"I guess. Don't notice it when you grow up with it." 

"Suppose not." 

He turned back from the window. 

"One tends to take things for granted, you mean?" 

Doggett looked up, unsure as to whether or not that was a not-so subtle dig. 

"What're you tryin' to say, Walt? You sayin' I took you for granted?" 

Skinner shook his head, sitting on the chest at the foot of the bed. 

"No, of course not. And please don't use the past tense." 

Doggett looked away. This was going to be harder than he thought. 

"It's for the best," he said, staring at the carpet. 

"Best for who?" Skinner laid his hand on the bedspread next to Doggett. 

"Not for me, that's for damned sure." He reached and prodded Doggett's thigh. "Or you, for that matter." 

Doggett sighed. 

"You don't understand," he said miserably. 

"Then explain it to me, cause I'm really struggling to see the problem, here. You know how I feel about you." He stroked his finger down the outside of Doggett's jeans. "Or at least I hope you do." 

Doggett rubbed the carpet with his toe. It was suddenly vastly more appealing than looking Skinner in the eye. The problem wasn't that he didn't know how Skinner felt. The problem, of course, was probably filling out a complaint form as they spoke. One that would lead to investigation, humiliation and dismissal. But how to tell Skinner this without him freaking out? 

"Talk to me, John. Because this is killing me." 

The misery in his voice dragged Doggett's unwilling eyes up from the carpet. Skinner deserved better than this. Better than he'd been treating him. Nodding, he rested his hand on top of Skinner's. As Doggett opened his mouth to start picking at the Gordian Knot he'd tied himself up in, there was a cry from downstairs, and the sound of breaking crockery. 

"What the hell?" 

Taking the stairs two at a time, Doggett ran through the kitchen and into the front room, where his mother stood, the remains of two plates lying shattered at her feet. She was shaking, pale as milk, one hand worrying her hair. 

"What is it, Mama?" He touched her arm, making her jump. 

Wordlessly, she pointed to the corner. On his blanket, Hound lay stiffly, eyes sightlessly gazing towards the window and the driveway, the scene of past triumphs. 

"Oh, man..." 

Skinner appeared at his side just as his mother began to tremble uncontrollably. 

"John?" 

Jerking his chin over to the blankets, Doggett turned his mother away from the sight. 

"Help me?" he looked at the other man. 

Nodding, Skinner took her other arm and led the older woman through the door. 

"Come into the kitchen, Betty. Come sit down." His deep, calm voice penetrated the jittery woman. 

"Yes, I should start lunch." 

"How about we put the kettle on for some tea?" 

"Yes, tea..." 

"What's going on?" 

Sal appeared in the doorway. 

Doggett pointed. "Hound. Mama found him." 

"Oh, John!" Sal put her hand to her mouth and stepped towards the dead dog. She stopped short of the blanket. 

"How long?" 

Doggett shrugged, watching Skinner guide Betty out into the hallway. 

"Who knows?" He stooped down and touched one of the outstretched legs. It was still flexible. 

"Not long," he said. Rigor hadn't set in. He smiled sadly. "Knowing Hound, he probably waited til he knew she'd be comin' in the room." Choking back a laugh, Sal touched his shoulder. 

"Yeah." 

Standing up, Doggett gave her a quick hug. "I'll take care of him. You go see to Mama before she freaks Walt out." Nodding, Sal sniffed wetly and ran her hand over her eyes and left the room. 

He bent down again. 

"Hiya, Hound," he whispered, stroking the old fur. He might not have grown up with the dog, but he had plenty of happy memories of longs walks taken with an agreeably silent companion and endless games of fetch and catch in the yard. Luke had liked Hound. He was glad he'd been able to say goodbye. 

"Thanks for waitin' for me, boy." 

He felt movement at his side and turned to look. 

"What was his name?" 

Skinner knelt down next to him. 

"Hound." 

"Uh-huh." A large hand reached out and stroked a floppy ear. 

They knelt side by side, not speaking, until Doggett sighed and let go of the leg he held. 

"Let's do this." 

"You sure?" 

Doggett nodded. "Yeah. There's no-one else to do it." He indicated the door. 

"Sal's too upset and Ma never much cared for the old guy." 

"What about your dad?" 

"Not with that hip." 

Pulling the edges of the blanket across Hound's body, Doggett bent to scoop the old body up. It didn't weigh much. 

"Let me get the back door," Skinner said, covering a stray leg hanging down. Together they maneouvered Hound through the kitchem past a tearful Sal and Betty who sat with her back to them. 

"Be careful," Sal called after them. 

"I will." 

Walking across the dusty yard, Skinner laid a hand on Doggett's shoulder. 

"What do you plan on doing with him?" 

Blowing fluff from his chin, Doggett shook his head. 

"Not entirely sure. I suppose I oughtta dig a grave." 

"I'm sorry, I'm not going to be much help." 

"S'okay. I don't mind doing it." 

Stopping for a second, Doggett gazed around. Ideally, he'd bet Hound would've liked to be planted slap bang in the middle of the drive, to guard the house, but he couldn't bear the thought of cars driving over him. There was a walnut tree over by the old pump. After a long run, Hound always took a drink and nap in the shade beneath the branches. That seemed as good a place as any. 

"Over there. Under the tree." Decision made, Doggett strode across and knelt, laying the collection of ripe blankets down, tucking the edges in. Won't be long, now, boy," he muttered, his finger seeking out the grey muzzle. He stood up. 

"I'd better go tell my dad." 

"You want company? 

Doggett shook his head. "No. I guess not." 

* * *

chapter 19. (some NC-17 content) 

In the end, they dug the grave between them.. Doggett was surprised that his father actually got a shovel and dug, despite the pain it must have caused him. He was even more surprised to catch him wiping his eyes a couple of times. He pretended he hadn't seen it, without stopping to analyse why. 

Neither of them had said much as they stood looking down at the overturned earth. Doggett supposed there might have been a moment when he could have put his arm around his father, but the chance was lost when the older man turned and walked abruptly away. Doggett watched his uneven gait as he disappeared back into the barn. Back into hiding. Seemed that was something else they were both good at. 

Afterwards, lunch had been a sorry affair, with Sal still weepy, Betty all hot and bothered with the shock and his father even more taciturn than usual. They had mostly eaten in silence, Doggett alternately washed by sadness over Hound and embarrassment for Skinner, stuck in the middle of the whole mess. God knows what he must have been thinking, quietly eating his sandwich one-handed. 

Putting the dishtowel over the rack to dry, Doggett sighed and looked across the kitchen to Skinner. He was sitting at the table alone, all the others having disappeared. 

"Great start to a visit, huh?" 

Brown eyes smiled back. 

"One of those things, John." Unpopping a med-bottle, he shrugged. 

"Life rarely behaves itself." 

Wasn't that the truth, Doggett thought. 

"You want some water with those?" he asked, as Skinner shook two pills out on the table. 

"No. It's okay." He threw them back and swallowed. 

Doggett grinned, recognising the military method of taking meds. 

"Some things never leave you, huh?" 

Skinner smiled, understanding. "I guess not." 

Watching as the other man deftly capped the bottle and sat back, rubbing his shoulder. 

"That hurt, too?" 

Skinner raised his eyebrows. "Aches, more than anything." He flexed his arm. 

"Guess it's the weight of the cast." 

"You want..." He hesitated, wondering if he offered to help, he would be turned down. 

Skinner looked up at him, expectantly. 

"You want..." He glanced at the doorway and lowered his voice. "A back-rub?" 

The grin that split Skinner's face was all the re-assurance he needed. 

"I'd like that. Thanks." 

Doggett smiled back, a little shyly. He had the sneakiest of feelings that he didn't deserve this man. Didn't deserve what sounded like a second chance. But, shit. He wasn't about to stop and question it now. He was just gonna take it and deal with the other shit when it happened. 

"C'mon, then." He jerked his head. "While there's some peace and quiet." 

Padding up the stairs to 'Walt's' room, Doggett tried to squash the raging butterflies in his belly. The fact that this was his parental home and the fact that he felt as nervous as he had their first time, added to the churning in his guts. 

"Just a second," he whispered, darting into the bathroom, to return a moment later clutching a bottle. 

"What's that?" Skinner whispered. 

"Never you mind." He held the door open. "Inside," he instructed and with a furtive glance down the hall, followed him inside. He closed the door and leaning on it, shook his head. 

"God, this feels weird!" 

Skinner looked up at him from the bed under the window, the sling halfway over his head. 

"It does?" 

Doggett nodded. "Bein' under my parent's roof, an' all." 

"Oh." He pulled the sling off. "That." 

"It doesn't bother you?" 

Skinner shrugged. "They're not my parents." 

Doggett folded his arms. "Gee, thanks Skinner - that helps." 

Laughing softly, Skinner stepped up to cup his face. "Relax. You're a big boy, now. You're allowed to do grown-up things. Besides..." he said, patting the cheek. 

"It's not as if you're going to do anything too wild, are you?" 

"Wanna bet?" Doggett replied, getting into the humour of the situation. 

Skinner tried looking stern, but the gleam in his eye gave him away. 

He sat on the edge of the bed to untie his boots. 

"John Doggett. You wouldn't take advantage of an injured man, now would you?" 

"Only if the injured man wanted me to," Doggett replied, kneeling to pull Skinner's boots off. He held a socked foot, looking up. 

"Does he?" 

"Only if you're gentle," Skinner smiled, bending slightly to put his lips to Doggett's. 

It was a quiet kiss, not meant to set the world on fire, but sweet all the same. Doggett reached up to touch Skinner's face as he pulled away. 

"I'm sorry," he said again. 

"Not now, John," Skinner replied. "It's just... Can I get that rub, before we get into the heavy stuff? I'm kind of achy." 

Instantly ashamed for forgetting the state of Skinner's injuries, Doggett rose and pulled at the hem of his sweater. 

"Sure. Arms up. Let's get this off." He stripped the clothing off, careful of the cast and mindful not to scrape the road rash on his face. 

"Okay?" 

Skinner nodded, probing his side with his fingers. "I guess." 

"Let me see." 

Doggett pulled his hand away to inspect the bruises. They were coming out with a vengeance. Multi-coloured and angry. He winced. 

"You sure bounce hard, don't you?" 

Skinner chuckled. "Who'd have thought fat bastards could do that?" 

"You're not fat," Doggett smiled, running his hand over a flat stomach. 

Skinner grunted, and moved to turn over and lay down. 

"You say that now... But what about when I'm old?" 

Doggett swallowed the bitter thought that they might not be together when Skinner got much older and forced himself to smile. 

"Shit, man... You're already old." 

"I knew you were gonna say that," Skinner muttered into the pillow. 

Climbing up on the bed, Doggett placed his knees on either side of Skinner's hips, resting his ass on the back of long legs. 

"This hurting you?" 

"Uh-uh." Muffled by the pillow, Skinner gingerly put his arm up by his head. 

"Just go easy, okay?" 

"Oh, I'll be gentle as a lamb," Doggett smiled, reaching into his back pocket for the stolen bottle. He popped the top and squeezed a generous dollop of his mother's hand cream into his palm. It was the nearest thing he could think of to massage oil, apart from his dad's stinky old linament. And he was damned sure he didn't want to subject Skinner to that. He was reasonably sure Betty wouldn't mind Skinner making use of it -although he wasn't going to be in a rush to tell her about this. 

Rubbing his hands together to warm the cold cream, he placed them at the junction of Skinner's neck and shoulders. He barely squeezed, feeling the taut muscles bunched up. He pulled and kneaded, feeling the knots tighten. Skinner grunted. 

"You're really tense," Doggett said, sliding his hands apart and round. The grunt again. Peering over, he could see that Skinner had his eyes closed. 

Smiling, Doggett gave up on conversation and concentrated on giving the best massage he could. He squeezed and released, rolling the muscles under his fingers, watching the skin glisten and move as he worked. Frowning, he ignored the burn of his own bruised knees, leaning gently to put some weight behind the pushes. 

"That okay?" he whispered, putting his mouth near Skinner's ear. 

"Hhhhmmm." 

Smiling, he took that as a 'yes' and leaned back to continue. Dripping some more cream into his hand, he trailed his wet palm down the centre of Skinners's back, right down to the little patch of hair at the top of his jeans and back up again. Then, using very gentle hand motions, spread it outwards towards the bruises on the ribs. Skinner grunted. 

"I know, babe, I know." Doggett lightened his touch over the marks. It would be a while before Skinner felt like having much more than the softest of touches on those ribs. He smoothed the traces of the cream in, hoping that it would feel good, even just a little. 

Running his hands down over two bulging biceps, Doggett wondered how the hell he was going to tackle the 'heavy stuff' that he knew was coming between the two of them? He still didn't know why Skinner was here, let alone how he knew where to find him. Surely Mulder hadn't run to Walt, knowing the relationship between them? And yet... Would he? Would he count on Skinner going ape and finishing the relationship over what John did? He frowned. Surely not? Nah. Not even Mulder was that devious. Or that dumb. Besides, Skinner made it clear that he still cared. 

Doggett swallowed. Hadn't he just? And all Doggett was going to give him in return was pain and betrayal. Shit. He paused, resting his hands. Maybe that wasn't all he could give. For now, anyway. 

He nodded to himself and got down off Skinner's legs, bending to his ear. 

"Walt? Can you turn over for me?" 

Grunt. Almost asleep. 

Doggett smiled. He'd help him get all the way asleep. 

"Turn on your back, Walt. C'mon." 

He tugged gently, encouraging movement. 

"Dammit... I was nearly asleep," Skinner grumbled, lazily rolling over. 

Kneeling unheeding on the floor, Doggett stretched up and kissed the uninjured cheek. 

"Yeah, yeah. Quit your bitchin'." He arranged Skinner's arms comfortably. 

"That okay?" 

"Was okay before," Skinner muttered, his eyes already closed again. 

"Don't bet on it," Doggett breathed, gently running his hands over the hairy chest. 

He used the last of the cream on his hands to smooth over the pecs and down to the flat belly, pausing to allow his thumbs to dance over both nipples. Skinner grunted again, this time with the ghost of a smile on his face. 

"Good," Doggett said. It wasn't a question. 

"Hhhhmmmm." 

Doggett glanced briefly at the relaxed face and laid his hands over the waistband of the blue jeans and unpopped the top button. 

"What?" 

Skinner's eyes shot open. 

"Just relax. I'm not gonna hurt you." He slid the zipper down. 

"John..." 

Doggett pulled the waist of the jeans apart. 

"Shhhhh." 

He pulled a little at Skinner's hips to make the pants ride lower. 

"But..." 

"Shhh. I want to do this." 

"Someone might..." 

Doggett shook his head, reaching under the waistband of the already tented boxers. He smiled. 

"They won't." 

Bending his head down, Doggett kissed the tip of the exposed cock. 

"Ohjesuschrist..." 

Skinner's head flopped back onto the pillow, all objections gone. 

As he opened his mouth to take Skinner in, all Doggett could think was: This might be the last time he would get to do this. He might never get the chance to be intimate with Skinner when he... He closed his eyes and tried to push that thought away. Not now. He refused to think of that now. 

He just focussed on doing the best blow job he could, well aware that with the state Skinner's body was in, it might take a lot to get him off. He used every trick he'd ever seen in films or been on the receiving end of, alternating with pulling up almost to the very tip, flicking with his tongue, then pushing down to take him down as far as he could. Which, had to be said, was a good deal further than he used to be able to take it. Practise, he thought with a slight grin. 

He felt Skinner's hand running through his hair, small sounds of encouragment coming from the pillows. Actually, with the way his hips were arching up, it didn't feel as if Mr. Skinner was feeling all that out of it. Reaching over, Doggett grabbed the base of the slick cock and began to pump slowly, in time with his mouth. Skinner gasped and grabbed a handful of hair. He was very fond of the two-pronged attack, Doggett knew. So, taking the rigid cock right to the back of his throat, Doggett squeezed his hand tight and began to swallow rapidly. That did it. With a deep groan, Skinner clenched his hand tight and shot down the back of Doggett's throat. 

* * *

chapter 20. 

Scooping the carrots into the saucepan, Doggett carried the peelings over to the trash and dumped them in. He'd left Skinner several hours ago, with a kiss and a smile, watching his lids drop before he'd even reached the bedroom door. Totally wiped out. The look suited him. 

With time on his hands and his mother in her room, getting over the shock of her dog-shaped discovery, he decided to make a start on the supper. Sal had taken a walk over to her friend's house and wouldn't be back until later, and with his dad stuck out in his usual hiding place of the barn, Doggett had found himself at a loose end. Might as well earn some brownie points, he thought, adding water to the vegetables. 

"And just when did you learn to do that?" 

Doggett turned to see his mother standing in the doorway. He smiled. 

"About a hundred years ago, Ma. Besides, it's not much of a challenge to peel a few vegetables, is it?" 

"Maybe so," she said, peering into the pan. "Did you salt them?" 

"Uh-huh," he lied. 

"And blanch the potatoes?" 

He hesitated. 

"Ah." 

Betty sighed. "Never mind. I'll do it." She rolled up her sleeves and nudged him out of the way. So much for brownie points. 

"When's Sal comin' back?" he asked, leaning against the counter. 

"Suppertime, she said. Although I wouldn't be surprised to see her before then." 

"Why's that?" 

She gave him a sideways glance. 

"Walter," she said with the air of imparting a secret. 

"Oh." Doggett folded his arms. 

"Where is he, anyway?" 

"Bed. He crashed out." 

He would not blush. 

"Thought he should lie down and rest for a few hours. After the accident, an' all." 

"Probably best." 

Who'd have thought? She agreed with something he did? Lighting the gas under the pans, his mother shooed him with her hands. 

"Always under my feet..." She paused, frowning. 

"What is that?" 

Doggett shook his head. 

"What's what?" 

"That." 

She leaned towards him and sniffed. Her eyesbrows shot up. 

"It's my hand cream! What on earth are you doing, stinking of my hand cream?" 

Shit. Now he knew he was blushing. Clearing his throat and looking at his boots for inspiration, Doggett tried to tramp down on the rising colour. 

"I, er..." Shit! Think! 

"I used it after diggin' that big old hole." Jesus! That was lame. 

She stared at him, incredulous. "What... You don't want to develop hard skin?" 

"Somethin' like that." 

Change the subject! Change the... The door banged open. 

"Hi, you two." Sal came in, carrying her shoes. "It's a great evening out there. Just right for walking. I didn't bother with the bus...." She looked at the others. "What's going on?" 

Doggett's mind raced. "I just did the vegetables and Ma's freakin' out." He gave a nervous little laugh. "Anyone'd think I never lifted a finger in the kitchen." 

"Not while you lived here, anyways," Betty snorted. "But I'm more interested in your sudden fascination with my cosmetics, son." 

Sal laughed. "What?" 

"He stinks of my hand cream. The good stuff, from Macy's." She poked Doggett in the arm. "That's real expensive, John." 

"Okay! I'll buy you some more, yeah?" 

"Hand cream, John?" Sal's grin had more than a touch of wicked about it. 

Betty snorted. "Doesn't want to get hard skin, apparantly." 

Sal giggled, her hand to her mouth. "Oh yeah?" 

"It's no big deal, okay?" 

He was getting cross now. A joke was a joke, but this was embarrassing. 

"Leave him be, Ma. Maybe he's getting sensitive in his old age." She walked over to the stove, sniffing the air. 

"That smells really good. One of your famous pot roasts?" 

Betty preened. 

"I thought Walter might like some good old fashioned, home cooking." 

"I'm sure he would," Sal smiled over their mother's shoulder and winked. 

"I'll go tell Daddy to wash up and come on in," Doggett offered, pulling a face at Sal. 

"And tell him to turn himself on," Betty called out, making them both grin, but 

Doggett banged out through the doors before Sal could make any comment that would get him into even more trouble. 

* * *

chapter 21. 

"This is really very good, Betty." Skinner waved a fork at his plate. "You're a marvellous cook." 

Doggett and Sal exchanged a glance. He was doing it again. Charming the pants off her. 

"Oh, get away with you, Walter. It's nothing special." 

"No, really - it's wonderful. It's been ages since I tasted a home-cooked pot-roast." 

Doggett rolled his eyes and stuffed another roast potato in his mouth. 

"Now I know where John gets his cooking skills from." 

The silence roared in Doggett's ears. Shit. 

Betty left her fork hanging. "What do you mean?" 

Skinner swallowed. He looked from Doggett to his mother and back again. 

"Um..." 

"Ma," Doggett saved him. "I told you I cook. How d'you think I've survived on my own all these years?" 

Skinner shot him a grateful look. 

"I see." She looked over to Jack. "Did you know about this?" 

Jesus! It was a basic skill - if she freaked over his ability to whip up a meal, how was she going to feel about his ability to give great head? 

"Seems no big deal, to me," Jack shrugged, chasing a pea around his plate. 

"The boy can cook. So what?" He stabbed the pea and ate it. 

"He never said." Betty sounded deeply offended. 

Jack shrugged. "There's probably lots of things he's never told you," he winked at Doggett. "Right, John?" 

Fucking hell! Guilty conscience and the perfect opportunity battled for top-slot in his mind. Was the old man psychic? 

"Well, I.." He didn't know what to say. 

"He did a lasagna for me," Sal offered. "From scratch." 

"He did?" 

Doggett rolled his eyes. "Okay. So I can cook." He sighed. "I can also sew a button on a shirt and if I try real hard, I'm pretty sure I can manage to clean the inside of an oven. I'm sorry I never got round to bringing these things up. " 

There was a huff of disapproval from the head of the table. Sarcasm wasn't real popular in Betty's eyes. She gave Doggett a sour look and turned to the man on the other side. 

"I bet Walter doesn't keep secrets from his mother. Do you, Walter?" 

Silence ruled again. 

"Actually..." Skinner cleared his throat. "My parents died last year." 

Hand to mouth, Betty blinked at him. "Oh... I'm so sorry." 

Skinner kept his eyes on his plate and waved his hand. "It's okay." 

"How?" 

Doggett winced. She was never one to leave things be. 

"Ma..." he warned. "Leave it, okay?" 

Skinner glaced up. "No. It's okay, John. I don't mind." 

Like hell, Doggett thought, reading his face. 

"A stolen car ran a red light and hit them head-on." 

"I'm real sorry about that," Jack nodded. "Terrible thing." 

Skinner sighed. "Thank you. It was. But it's okay, now." 

Doggett saw straight through the smile he gave. He wanted to go over and put his arms around him. He tried to catch Skinner's eye, but he was back to staring at his empty plate. 

"You poor thing." Betty rose from her seat and moved around the table to where Skinner sat. She bent and wrapped her arms over his shoulders and pulled his very surprised head to her chest. 

Doggett gaped. Had the woman gone stark raving mad? 

Skinner looked at him, wide-eyed from under the canopy of Betty Doggett's bosom. Help me... his eyes seemed to say. 

Doggett felt a grin creeping up. His mother stroked the top of Skinner's bald head. He looked terrified. It was almost too funny to bear. Doggett bit the inside of his cheek, afraid he was going to burst out laughing. 

He watched as Betty pulled away from Skinner, a strange look on her face. What was that look for, he wondered? She held Skinner at arms length, looked down at him, then to the amazement of all at the table, bent her head and sniffed him. 

"What the hell are you doin', woman?" Jack stared at his wife like she'd grown another head. 

"He smells," she replied. 

An embarrassed silence filled the kitchen. 

"Mother..." Sal started to say. 

Betty shook her head. "He smells of hand cream." 

The blood roared into Doggett's face, oblivious to the mystified silence. Oh. Shit... Shit.... Shit. 

Betty turned to him and pinned him with one of her 'looks'. 

"Johnny. Do you want to tell me why your friend smells of hand cream?" 

No... he didn't want to tell her - he most certainly didn't. 

"I..." 

"Hard skin?" 

Betty turned to look at Sal. 

"Pardon me?" 

Sal cleared her throat, going almost as red as Doggett felt. 

"Maybe he didn't want to get..." 

"Walter didn't do any digging, to get hard skin," Betty said, frowning down at the man in front of her. "Did you?" 

Walter stared back up. 

"No, ma'am." He sounded about three years old, something which might have Doggett laugh at any other time. 

"He uses hand cream. So what?" Jack asked, totally out of the loop. 

"My hand cream," Betty told him, putting heavy emphasis on the first word. 

"And...?" Jack shrugged. 

"John also smelled of it earlier." 

In the silence that followed, Jack threw his napkin down. 

"Damn woman! Maybe they're both kinky for hand cream! What does it matter?" 

Doggett could feel his ears going puce. They were both kinky for something, that was for sure. 

"Well, I want to know what they found to do with my best hand cream!" 

Oh God... The silence was excruciating. Even Sal couldn't think of anything to save them. Maybe now was the time. He looked over to Skinner, who sat with his mouth hanging open, blushing to the top of his bald head. Shit. Not how he'd planned on doing this. Not that he'd had a plan in the first place. 

"Mama..." He swallowed, mouth cotton-dry. "I..." 

"John gave me a shoulder-rub," Skinner blurted out, his voice in a range it hadn't seen since it broke. 

"I was aching from the accident and the sling and he offered to give my shoulders a rub and I'm sorry he used your hand cream - I didn't realise it was your best one and I'll be sure to replace it, ma'am." He finished in a rush, out of breath. 

Everyone stared at him. Doggett in particular. That was inspired. Brilliant. He felt the heat in his body settling down. Absolutely fucking brilliant. Not even his mother could poke a hole in that. He felt the breath hiss between his teeth. The man was a master. He'd go down on his knees and give him a blow-job every day for a month for that. 

"I see," Betty said, moving away and sitting back down. "A shoulder-rub." 

"Yes ma'am." Skinner nodded vigorously. 

"Ah." 

"I bet you're really sore," Sal nodded. "That was nice of you, John." 

"Uh-huh." 

Doggett watched as Skinner gave his mother one of his full-toothed, charming smiles. His mother smiled back. 

"Well, that's all right, then." She folded her napkin carefully and looked long enough at Doggett to make him squirm, before turning back to an unsuspecting Skinner. 

"But why use my hand cream?" 

"Because he left our massage oil in the bathr...." Skinner's mouth shut with an audible click. 

This time the silence made Doggett feel sick. Too. Much. Information. Waaaay too much fuckin' information. This time, the blood refused to rush to his head, it hid somewhere near his feet, in no hurry to see Betty Doggett's reaction to that little confession. 

She turned to settle her gaze on her son, her neck tendon's standing to attention. 

"John?" 

He looked up meet her eyes. 

"Yeah?" 

She didn't say anything, just looked. 

He swallowed. Seemed it was time. 

"There's something I need to tell you," he said very quietly. He had a peculiar centre of calm in his guts, surprising the hell out of him. Only his fingers betrayed his nerves, they sat on the table, shredding his napkin. 

"I don't think I want to hear it, thank you," Betty said, as always, one step ahead of him. 

"Ma..." 

"John - that's enough!" She stood up abruptly. 

"Mama, let John speak." Sal reached for her mother's hand. 

"I won't!" Betty snatched it away. 

"What the heck's gotten into you, woman?" Jack, as always, one step behind. 

"It's not important," Betty said, chopping the air with her hand. 

"Yes it is." Doggett looked up at her. Wow. Reacting badly. There's a surprise. 

"What's not important?" 

Doggett took a deep breath. "Daddy... Walt's not just my 'friend'." 

**"JOHN!"**

His mother stamped her foot and banged her plate on the table. Doggett stared at her tantrum, that feeling of calmness spreading. She wasn't going to get her way, this time. 

"You ought to know..." 

Betty banged the table again. "I won't have you say it!" 

Doggett shook his head. "Not saying it, won't make it not true, Ma." 

They stared at one another, neither willing to back down. 

"It's not true." 

"Yes... It is." 

Jack cleared his throat. "I know I'm kinda deaf, but did I miss somethin'?" 

Doggett turned to his father, wondering what kind of tantrum a man with a hearing problem and a dodgy hip would have. 

"No, Daddy. You didn't miss anything. I was just trying to tell you..." 

"Stop, this INSTANT, Johnny..." 

For one of the first times in his life, he ignored her. 

"Trying to tell you that Walt and I are..." He took a huge breath and said the word. 

"Lovers." 

He watched as his father looked from Skinner to him and back again, no expression on his face. Perhaps he was just going to keel over into his dinner-plate and die of shock. That would be one hell of a tantrum. 

"You hear me, Daddy?" 

There was another long silence. And then: 

"I heard you." He frowned, as if trying to figure something out. He held up his hand. 

"You sayin' that you and him..." He pointed at Skinner. "Are..." 

"Of course he's not trying to say that!" Betty gave a high-pitched laugh. 

"It's a silly joke, isn't it, Johnny?" She nodded over-enthusiastically. 

"Just one of your jokes." 

Doggett sighed. 

"No, Ma. It's not a joke. I've been seein' Walt for nearly a year, now." 

Jack tried again. 

"That you and him are..." 

"NO! I won't have it!" His mother banged her plate again, cutlery jumping in surprise. 

"You don't get a choice, Mom." 

He laughed, one short bark of mirthless laughter. 

"Actually, I don't get a choice, either." He looked over to where Skinner sat, silent and pale. 

"If I had a choice about who I was gonna fall in love with, it certainly wouldn't be some bald, butch ex-Marine." He shrugged. 

"I'm not that fuckin' masochistic." 

For once, the bad language went unchecked, its shock value knocked totally out of the arena by the rest of the words and their implications. Skinner smiled at him, a little taken aback at the twisted compliment. 

"So you and he..." Jack was still trying to clear the picture. 

Doggett sighed and turned to take his father's hand. He pointed it at his own chest. 

"It's quite simple, Daddy. Me..." He jabbed the hand across the table. 

"And that man there... Sleep together. Okay? Do you understand?" 

His father sat with his hand in Doggett's and looked at him. Blue eyes into blue again. 

"You fuck each other, is that what you mean?" 

"Jack!!" 

"Oh, hush up, woman!" Jack turned back to Doggett. "Well?" 

"Yes, Daddy. That's exactly what I mean." 

He maybe wouldn't have put it quite so... plainly, but it was too late now. He sighed. 

"I imagine that probably disgusts you... And embarrasses you, Dad. Shit... I expect it disappoints you, too. But hell..." He released the captive hand and scrubbed at his face. The sudden burst of adrenaline had begun to fade. 

"I can't help the way I feel... I'm sorry." 

"I see." 

That was all. No fireworks. No coronary. All in all a bit of a disappointment of his own. Doggett looked from one thin-lipped parent to the other, blank one and felt the calmness bunch up into a hard ball in his belly. They freaked out. Fair enough. He had plenty of shit going on in his life without borrowing theirs. 

He looked over to Sal. "Thanks, sis," he whispered, giving her a little smile. 

"Okay." He placed both his hands on the table and stood. 

"Tell you what. Walt and I will pack our stuff and we'll be out of the house in about fifteen minutes. I'll call you in a few weeks, see how you are." He nodded at Skinner and started to move towards the door. 

"No." 

Doggett looked over to his father. 

"Excuse me?" 

"You can't go at this time of night. It's way too far to drive." 

"Don't worry. We'll get a motel." 

"No." Jack shook his head. "You stay here. This is your home." 

Doggett looked at him. 

"Jack. I think..." 

Jack held up his hand. "I heard what you think, Betty. He stays." He glanced across the table. "He stays, too." 

"But..." 

"No buts." He got up from the table and nodded at Skinner. "You're welcome in this house. If you'd care to stay." 

Skinner inclined his head. 

"Thank you, Mr. Doggett. I appreciate that." 

Jack limped around the table, walking to stand in front of Doggett. 

"You don't think much of me, do you, son?" 

"I..." Lost for a reply, Doggett just blinked at his father. 

One finger poked him in the centre of his chest. 

"I'll just say this once. I don't really care if you want to fuck little blue monkeys or scrap-yard mutts. You're still my son." Then shrugging, he fiddled with the aid in one of the ears that Doggett had inherited. 

"Can't change that." 

Damn. Just when you thought you had 'em pegged. Doggett stood and blinked his fuzzy eyes. Shit. That was all he needed, to cry like a pansy in front of him. 

"Thank you," he whispered, nodding. 

* * *

chapter 22. 

"Your father's pretty cool," Skinner said, leaning against the bedroom door. 

"I'm surprised a man of his age would take the news so calmly." 

Doggett shook his head. "I can't believe it..." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I expected him to shout and scream... Hell, even a punch in the mouth wouldn't have been a surprise." He laughed softly. 

"Jesus. Go figure." 

Skinner sank down next to him, placing his hand on a warm thigh. 

"Don't you two get on?" 

Doggett frowned. "Until today, I'd have said no." He scratched his head. 

"But now... Shit. After all this... I don't know, Walt. I really don't." 

"Well, seems to me he must love you a hell of a lot to take this so well." 

Doggett grunted, unconvinced. "You think?" 

Skinner squeezed his leg. "Just my opinion. Call it like I see it." 

Doggett glanced at him and sighed. "Maybe." 

Running his fingers over the knuckles, Doggett glanced at him. 

"Did your parents know?" 

Skinner nodded. "Uh-huh." 

"And...?" 

"Tears, tantrums.. The usual." He shrugged. "My father didn't speak to me for 6 months, then they got over it." 

"Well, my mom's got the first bit down, okay. Wonder if she'll ever 'get over it'." 

"I'm sure she will." 

Doggett looked dubious. 

"She's crazy about you, John. She'll get over it." 

Doggett smiled. "She was crazy about you 'til..." 

"Til she found out I smelled like a girl." 

Doggett laughed and patted his hand. "I think the idea of me fucking you, kinda blew that one outta the water, Walt." 

"I suppose." 

They sat looking at one another for a moment, then Doggett cleared his throat. 

"So. About that." 

"This the 'heavy stuff', then?" 

Doggett nodded. "I suppose. I need to explain some stuff. I need to tell you why I..." He winced. "Ran away." He said it. He actually admitted it. An evening of real surprises. 

"I know why." 

Doggett shook his head. "Bet you don't." 

"Mulder kissed you." 

Doggett felt his mouth drop open in shock. How the hell? He shook his head in wonder. "You knew?" 

Nodding, Skinner sighed. "Pried it out of him." 

"You did?" 

Skinner grinned. "It was Scully, actually. Tell you - I don't ever want to piss that lady off." 

"I hear you," Doggett smiled. 

He stared into the brown eyes, waiting for the rest. If he knew the rest, of course. Skinner stared back, then shrugged. 

"So. He kissed you. So what?" 

That answered that question. He didn't know the rest. Mulder didn't tell him. Damn. Now he'd have to. 

"It doesn't bother you?" 

Skinner sighed. "I won't lie to you - it annoyed the hell out of me when I heard. I could have punched his teeth down his throat for touching you." 

Doggett grinned. That was a boost to his ego. 

"What a hero." 

"Yeah, well. You're mine. Not his." 

Shit. Doggett's eyes slid away down the the carpet. 

"John... What's wrong? Do you have a problem with me saying that?" 

"No... Of course not." 

Oh shit. This was tough. 

"Then why won't you look at me?" 

Dragging his eyes back up took a huge effort. "I'm lookin', okay?" Those eyes drilled into his, pinning him to the bed, reading his face. 

"There's more, isn't there?" 

Oh yeah. You could say that. 

"Did Mulder not say anything else?" 

Skinner shook his head slowly. "About?" 

Doggett swallowed the lump in his throat. 

"About what I did to him." 

Doggett could hear the cluck of hens down in the yard, interrupting the silence between them. He decided the sound of his miserable voice was better than theirs. 

"I expect he's gonna file a complaint." 

He sighed, picking at a stray thread on the bedspread. "And when he does, I'll be out of a job." 

The clucking drifted up again, eager to piss him off some more. 

"What did you do, John?" Skinner's voice was calm. Quiet, but calm. 

"John..." 

Doggett looked up from his picking. 

"Did you hurt him?" 

He shook his head. That was an easy question. "No. I didn't hurt him." 

Skinner nodded. "Okay. So what, then?" 

Cluck-cluck-cluck. The poultry marked out the seconds. 

"I...." 

Oh fucking hell, this was so hard. 

"I ..." 

He held his hand up helplessly. 

"Just say it, John." 

Doggett looked at the man next to him, opened his mouth to say: it was nothing -I didn't do anything, forget it. His mouth had other ideas. 

"I touched him, Walt. I reached down and I touched him. He'd been pissing me off so bad, lately... following me everywhere... even into the fucking shower, for Christssake! Kissing me, then rubbing himself up against me... I just grabbed him and the next thing I know he's shooting all over my hand and I'm standing there, drippin' wet, feelin' sick and he won't look at me and I just know he's gonna report it and I didn't mean it, Walt... I was just so mad and ..." Doggett hung his head. Shit. 

Cluck-fucking-cluckity-cluck. It was fitting the end of a relationship should be announced by his least favourite creatures on this earth. He tried to imagine them lying on a supermarket shelf, entombed in saran-wrap, plucked and fucked. It made him feel a little less like throwing up. 

"I see." Skinner's voice was still deceptively calm. "He didn't mention that little detail." 

"Probably saving it for the disciplinary committee," Doggett muttered, miserably. 

"I don't think so." 

Doggett looked up. He'd gotta be kidding. 

"Oh, please." 

Skinner shrugged. "I don't think Mulder will be anxious to advertise his conduct." 

"Just a minute, I was the one that...." He trailed off. He didn't think he could say the words again. 

Skinner shook his head. "That maybe, but let's not overlook what prompted it." 

Doggett looked blankly at him. 

Skinner dipped his head down, raising his eyebrows. 

"Following you, harrassing you, rubbing his body on yours? Not to mention the kiss." He grunted. "Grounds for complaint, if ever I heard them." 

Doggett stared. He hadn't thought of it that way. In all the ways he'd obsessed about what happened, he never considered it from that particular angle. 

He stared into the dark eyes and wondered, just a little, if things might possibly be alright. 

"You're not..." He cleared his throat. "Mad?" 

Strangely, the hens had shut up, waiting for Skinner's answer. That lump in Doggett's throat was getting bigger, threatening to choke him. If Skinner said yes, then he would have get up and walk out of the room without looking back. He could do with taking a leak. He supposed it was nerves. 

Finally. Finaly, Skinner sighed. 

"Yes, John. I'm mad as hell." 

Doggett's belly lurched, his bladder constricting. 

"I'm mad at Mulder. But I think for the sake of all us, I'm going to resist the temptation to take my gun out and shoot him in the balls and just ignore the incident." 

"You're not gonna take issue with him?" 

Skinner looked at him, awry. "You want to bring it up?" 

Doggett shook his head. "No way. I never want to think about it again, let alone have a heart-to-heart with Mulder over it." 

"I thought as much. So, no... I'm not going to take issue with him. Let it go." He frowned. "Unless anything like this happens again, and then Agent Mulder and I are going to have a real problem." 

Doggett would lay odds on it never, ever happening again. Not judging by the state Mulder was in when he walked out of those showers. 

"So..." He dared to allow the hope breathing space. "You're not mad?" 

Skinner gave him a little smile. "No, John, I'm not." 

It took a good few seconds for that to sink in. Seconds that Doggett spent wondering if he could get up without disgracing himself in his pants. 

"Not at me?" he asked again. 

Skinner shook his head and smiled. "No. Not at you." He brought his hand up to pat Doggett's cheek. "You doppy, skinny-assed sack of shit." 

Doggett grabbed at his crotch, relief coursing crazily through his body, unlocking his tensed-up muscles and threatening to do the same to his bladder. 

"Shit... Thank God!" He laughed a little wildy, dipping his head to kiss Skinner messily on the lips, then stood quickly. 

"I gotta go..." He pulled a face, wriggling, still clutching. "Shit...don't move - I'll be right back." Dashing for the bathroom, he heard the wonderful sound of Skinner's laughter following him down the hallway. 

* * *

chapter 23. (Slash alert. NC-17 stuff) 

Washing up his hands, Doggett grinned at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It looked like it was going to be okay. Even the colour in his cheeks seemed to have improved over the last half hour. He looked less like something that had been run-over by a fire truck. 

He winced. Of course, Skinner looked like road-kill, now. Or at least road-battered. He was going to have to take it real easy with the other man for a while. He grinned again. There were still plenty of ways to show Skinner how he felt, without pounding him through the mattress. Oh yeah, he thought, plenty of ways. 

He pushed the bathroom door open. 

"So. You two kissed and made up, yet?" Sal asked, arms folded and foot tapping in the hallway. 

Doggett grinned. He didn't seem able to wipe the expression off his face. 

"What d'you think?" he asked, walking straight past her to the bedroom. As he passed her, she jabbed a fist out to hit him in the arm. 

"I think that if you haven't - I'm gonna have to kick your skinny ass from here to Toledo, Dogbreath." 

Hand on the door, Doggett turned incredulously, rubbing his bicep. 

"You'll do what?" 

"You heard, now I wanna check with Walt." 

Doggett folded his arms. 

"I think you over-estimate your capibilities, Little One." 

"You think?" 

He nodded. "Yeah, I do." 

"We'll see about that." 

She pushed past him, elbowing him in the guts as she went. 

Skinner looked up as Sal barged in, followed closely by Doggett, rubbing his midriff. 

"Sal. Why don't you come in," he smiled, ironically. 

"Thank you. Now then, Walter..." She sat on the edge of the bed next to him. "Tell me. Has my idiot brother made up with you, yet?" 

Skinner's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. 

"You have an 'Idiot Brother'? Gee! Why haven't we been introduced?" 

Sal rolled her eyes. "Very funny. Did he?" 

Skinner's eyes flicked up to Doggett. 

"He did." 

"So you two are...?" She let the question hang, glancing from one to the other. 

Doggett walked over to them and smiled. 

"We are." 

Rubbing her hands together, Sal stood. 

"Damn right. I should think so." Leaning over, she kissed Skinner's cheek. 

"Told you so," she whispered. 

Skinner smiled back and winked. "Thanks." 

Doggett leaned down and stuck his nose in front of her face. 

"I'm so glad you're pleased. You know I simply crave your approval." A long finger appeared between them. 

"Charming," Doggett remarked, backing off. "You really are a class act, aren't you, Miss Doggett?" 

She shrugged, unconcerned. "Just wanna be sure." 

"Well, you can be sure..." Doggett grabbed her by the arms and hauled her up. "That bein' as Walt and I have made up, we would like some time alone and strangely enough, we don't need an audience, thank you very much." 

Laughing, Sal allowed herself to be walked to the door. 

"You're no fun, Johnny. I could help..." 

"Out." 

That was just too much. 

"You sure?" she asked. "I could hold his sling, or something." 

Doggett opened the door and gave her a shove. 

"Out." 

"Love you too," she said, leaning back in and kissing him on the nose. 

"I'll call you soon, okay? I gotta go teach rug monkeys." She pulled a face. 

"But you keep in touch, y'hear?" 

Smiling at her mock stern face, Doggett reached out and pulled her to him. 

"I will," he whispered into her neck. 

"Promise?" 

"Cross my heart," he assured her, giving one last squeeze. 

"See you, then." 

"Yeah. Take care, Sal." She turned at the top of the stairs and gave him a little wave. 

"Drive safely, now." 

"Sure. Bye." 

He stood for a moment, watching her run down the stairs, then sighing, went back into the room and closed the door. 

"I like her." 

Doggett smiled. "Hands off, she's way too much for you." 

Skinner laughed. "You're probably right." He patted the bed beside him. "C'mere." 

Doggett obeyed, a small smile on his face. 

"You givin' me orders, Skinner?" 

"I sure am." 

Doggett shrugged. "Okay. I can live with that." 

"Yeah?" There were a hundred questions behind that one word. Doggett acknowledged them all with a long look, a slow nod and a gentle kiss on his lips. 

"Yeah." 

Skinner smiled. "Good." 

They just sat and looked at one another, each doing a little spot-check on the other's face and expression. 

"So..." Doggett said at last. "What do you want to do?" 

"About?" 

Shrugging, Doggett glanced up and down the other man's body. 

"Tonight. You wanna sleep in with me, or what?" 

Skinner looked at him, eyebrow up. "I thought it made you feel weird?" 

Grinning, Doggett slid his hand up to the back of Skinner's neck. 

"I got over it." 

"Sure?" 

"Oh yeah." 

Leaning in to prove it, Doggett placed his lips back on Skinner's and gave him a long, slow kiss, holding him still so that he could push himself against the gradually parting lips. The kiss deepened, with Skinner eventually relenting and opening his mouth to let Doggett slide in and caress him. 

"That was nice," Skinner told him, when he was finally released. 

"Yeah, well, I have some makin' up to do, don't I?" 

Skinner shook his head. "Not to me, you don't." His good hand came up to hold the side of Doggett's face. "But there is something you can do for me." 

"What?" 

Smiling, Skinner leaned in to kiss him, then moved his mouth to brush over an ear. 

"Make love to me," he whispered. 

Doggett shivered, for more reasons than just the touch. 

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking at the sling, the scrapes. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt this man any more. 

"I imagine you should wait 'til you feel better, Walt." 

Skinner shook his head. 

"I'm sure." 

"But..." 

"No. I need this, John. I want you to love me, now." 

Doggett smiled. "I already do," he said. 

"You know what I mean," Skinner told him. "I want to feel it." 

As the same words he'd said to Walt some time ago echoed in his head, Doggett understood. Some might call it confirmation, re-affirmation, some technical shit that, but what it boiled down to was a healthy dose of insecurity that needed chasing away by physical contact. He could more than understand that. 

"Okay," he said, nodding. "But only if you let me do all the work." 

Skinner grinned. "I don't have a problem with that." 

"Good. Now let's take off these clothes and see what kind of mess you're in." 

Silently, Doggett helped Skinner remove his clothes, folding them neatly on the chair next to the bed. He tried not to wince or tut over the scrapes and bruises. The man was a patchwork of blue and purple. 

"Pretty good, huh?" Skinner said, lying down very carefully, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. 

"I'll say." Doggett ran a gentle hand over the sore-looking patch on his hipbone. 

"This hurt as much as I think it does?" 

Skinner laughed softly and shook his head. "Nah. I'm big and tough." 

"Yeah, right," Doggett chuffed sarcastically, pulling his own sweater off. He could feel Skinner's eyes on him as he bent to pull his feet out of his pants. 

"How did you do that?" Skinner asked, pointing down. 

Doggett followed the gaze to his knees. 

They were scuffed and bruised. 

"Oh," he said, reaching to touch. "I hadn't realised." 

It hurt, so he stopped messing with them. 

"It's nothing." He didn't want Skinner to know he'd wrecked them sliding into touch next to him on the asphalt. 

"Stop starin'," he laughed, trying to deflect the attention away from his legs. Skinner's eyebrows rose. "Why should I? It's mine." Doggett glanced at him, lying long and golden on the bedspread, looking battered but happy. He like that. The happy bit. 

"Yeah..." He nodded. "Looks like it is." 

He straightened up and hooked his thumbs in his waistband of his shorts. 

"Nice ass," came the comment from the bed as he peeled them off. 

"Behave," Doggett told him. "Or I won't play." 

"Spoilsport." 

"Invalid." 

That made the other man laugh. 

"Touche," he nodded. "I'll give you that one." 

"Now..." 

Doggett said, throwing his underwear on the clothing pile and approaching the bed. "You just need to relax and let me be in charge, y'hear?" 

"Oh, I hear you, Mr. Doggett," Skinner assured him, eyes rivetted to Doggett's lower body. "I hear you." 

* * *

chapter 24. 

It took some working out - the physicalities of the whole thing, but, as Doggett thought , lying beween Skinner's open legs, it was worth it. He hovered over the other man, propped on one hand, taking his weight. 

"This okay?"he asked, lifting his head as he broke the kiss. "Not hurting you?" 

"Uh-uh...." Skinner pushed his hips up in appreciation. "Do it again." 

Doggett bent his head and placed his lips, just barely on Skinner's. 

"Say 'please'." 

"Please..." 

The word came out all husky and sexy, pushing more blood down to Doggett's already rigid cock. He opened his mouth to give a long, wet, and sexy kiss, eyes shut, little grunts of satisfaction escaping him. Skinner lay still, arms out to his sides, his groans telling Doggett all he needed to know about how his efforts were being appreciated. 

"S'good," Skinner told him as they parted for air. 

"Uh-huh." Doggett agreed, running a gentle hand down the uninjured side of the man under him. He found that if he lay slightly on one hip, he had pretty good access to Skinner's body, without putting any pressure on his bruises. He traced his fingers over the furry chest, seeking out nipples to play with. He smiled and bent his head down. 

It hadn't taken him long to figure out that whenever he lavished attention on Skinner's nipples, he responded with ego-boosting enthusiasm. And right on cue, the body under him began to writhe, a deep moaning sound rattling up from under Doggett's ear. He grinned, tonguing the chest hair out of the way to suckle harder. 

"Shit..." Skinner gasped, reaching to hold Doggett's head still. 

"Uh-uh," Doggett told him. He pulled his head away. "I'm in charge, remember?" 

There was a grunt of disapproval from above. Doggett's head went down, but in a burst of altruism, licked the abused nipple and began to nibble his way down. Where the skin was mottled under his mouth, he gently ran his tongue over it, dropping light kisses as he made a line down towards Skinner's groin. 

"Well, what's this, then?" he chuckled, blowing across a very erect penis. 

"It's in urgent need of attention, that's what it is," Skinner told him, head not moving from the pillows. 

"Well, it'll just have to wait, won't it?" 

"John..." 

Nipping a muscled thigh, Doggett tapped a finger on Skinner's belly. 

"Ah-ah. What did we say?" 

"Bastard," Skinner grumbled. 

"Now, now. Be nice." 

Smiling at the muttering that comment prompted, Doggett ran his fingers up the straining cock, down to the warm balls and up again. All his. That was quite a thought. He dipped his head to take it down, thrilled with the gasp that wrenched out. 

"God!" 

Carefully working the other man for a few minutes, Doggett used his free hand to roll Skinner's balls in his hand, feeling them draw up and tighten. He let Skinner slide from his mouth. 

"Jesus, Doggett..." He laughed softly. "What? You complainin', Skinner?" 

"No, sir. Not me." 

"I should think not," Doggett told him, licking him all the way from tip to tail. The moan came again. Doggett grinned. God, he loved that noise! 

"Here, pull up your leg..." He tugged at the back of Skinner's knee, moving over to one side. 

"What for?" Skinner asked, doing as he was told, regardless. 

"You know damn well," Doggett smiled up at him. 

Skinner grinned back. 

"Oh... Yeah." 

"Yeah." Doggett stuck his index and middle fingers in his mouth and grinned. 

"I have some..." Skinner peered down at him. "You know. 'Stuff' in my bag." 

Doggett gazed back, mouth open. 

"You brought lube with you?" he asked, incredulous. 

Skinner had the grace to look vaguely embarrassed. 

"Yeah, well. You know. Better to be prepared, and all that." 

"What are you? Some kinda kinky boy scout? Jesus, Skinner.." He shook his head. 

Skinner shifted, blushing. "I just thought..." 

Grinning, Doggett patted his leg. 

"Yeah, I can imagine what you were thinking, Walt." He kissed the leg. 

"Now, you gonna tell me whereabouts it is?" 

"Front zipper of the carry-on." 

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Doggett fished about for a minute, then with a truimphant grunt, levered himself up, brandishing the tube. 

"Ah-hah!" He unscrewed the cap and squeezed out a big splurge. 

"Okay. We're in business." He held up the tube and shook his head. 

"I still can't believe you brought lube into my parent's house." 

"I was planning on staying in a motel, if you remember," Skinner pointed out, still blushing. 

"Relax, Walt. I'm only teasing." Winking up, he grinned. "Brace yourself." 

There it was - that noise again. Skinner made it as Doggett eased a finger into him. Oh yeah.. He definitely loved that sound. He nodded to himself and went back to teasing. Replacing his mouth over Skinner's cock, he worked his finger gently, taking it slow, not wanting the other man to thrust too hard and hurt himself. 

"Jesus, John..." Skinner gasped, as more fingers slid inside. His hand came back down to weave in Doggett's hair. That was good. He liked it when Skinner held his head. Doggett used his teeth to scrape up the hard flesh, rolling the end around with his tongue. He pushed his fingers in, bending them up to where he knew it would drive the other man wild. The hips started to insist, he sucked harder. 

"You want me to finish you like this?" Doggett asked, holding his hand still. 

Skinner shook his head and licked his lips. "No... No, I want you inside me." 

Doggett tweaked a finger. "I am inside you, doofus." 

Skinner raised his hips up and grunted. "You know what I mean." He bent his head to look into Doggett's face. "Yeah?" 

Doggett stared back, saying nothing. He knew damn well what Skinner meant. 

"Oh, so you want me to say it?" Skinner smiled. "Okay." He ruffled Doggett's hair with his hand. "I want you to fuck me, John Doggett." 

A slow smile spread over Doggett's face. "I like it when you say that," he said, twisting his fingers around, making Skinner gasp. 

"Are you sure it won't hurt you too much?" 

"I don't care. Just do it, okay?" 

"Okay." Doggett pulled his hand away. "But I'm gonna stop the second I think I'm hurtin' you, y'hear?" 

"Deal." 

It only took moments to apply condom and lube, his dick already raging, raring to go. As he pushed Skinner's knees apart, Doggett knelt close and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on the smiling mouth. 

"Okay?" 

"Yeah." One good hand reached up to grasp the back of Doggett's neck. 

"Go for it." 

Doggett took a long time, easing himself inside fractions of an inch at a time. Skinner wriggled, trying to hurry him, but every time he did, Doggett would stop altogether, until he stilled again. It took quite a while for the other man to get the picture. 

"Bastard," he gasped, trying to stop his hips from jerking. 

"Yeah, yeah. Tell it to the judge," Doggett replied, sliding in that last little bit with agonising slowness. He lay, weight on both arms above Skinner, staring down, feeling the tremble of muscles, the prickle of perspiration and the tightness of another man's body. But most of all, he felt an incredible sense of peace. Of calm. 

He dipped on quivering arms for another kiss, deliberately making it long and sweet. 

"Hey," Doggett said, pushing himself back up. 

"Hey yourself," Skinner relied, cupping the side of his face. 

"You okay down there?" 

"Sure." Skinner chuckled. "I'd be even better if you'd start moving." He jerked his hips. 

"The anticipation is killing me." 

Doggett grinned. 

"Be careful what you ask for, my man," Doggett told him, pulling his hips back, slowly. 

Skinner grunted, eyes closing. 

Long and slow, deep and gentle. Trying to take it as slow as he could, holding back on the urge to thrust. Doggett couldn't recall ever making love quite like this. Not to Skinner, anyway. They always seemed to go at it like there was a prize for finishing first. Hard and fast sure was good. And Lord knows, he had no complaints, but he kind of like the way this was making him feel. The build-up seemed to be working its way from his toes, making his skin prickle all over. And judging from the groans coming from underneath him, Skinner was getting into it, too. 

A ragged breath huffed from between his lips as he pushed down into the hot body underneath him. Despite holding himself as hard as he could, Doggett could feel his orgasm beginning to build. He frowned, trying to squeeze it back, to not let it get away from him. Pulling a pained face, he glanced down at Skinner, to find brown eyes regarding him with concern. 

"You...." Skinner pulled in a shaky breath of his own. "You okay?" 

Doggett nodded. "Uh-huh." 

His arms were beginning to seriously shake, perspiration trickling down the side of his face. His eyes slid shut again. He was near. God... 

"Hey..." 

Doggett felt fingers winding themselves in his short hair. He opened his eyes. Skinner was staring at him. 

"What?" he asked, holding himself still for a moment. He blew air out of his mouth. It was getting hot in here. And getting real difficult to hold on. The fingers scratched his scalp, brushing his hair every which way, making Doggett smile. Skinner enjoyed playing with his hair. Pulling it, running his fingers through it. He supposed it was because the other man didn't have a whole lot of his own left. Skinner regarded him solemnly, his eyes tracking all over Doggett's face. 

"What?" he asked again. 

"Love you," Skinner told him, quietly. 

Doggett felt the fingers in his hair tighten as he spoke. He swallowed. Shit. Wasn't that just like Skinner? Always knew what to say to turn him into jello. He lowered himself and placed a kiss on Skinner's forehead. 

"Me too," he whispered, feeling his whole body tremble in time with his arms. Shit, he was near. He hoped Skinner wasn't far behind him, because he didn't know how much longer he could hold on. Leaning into the touch as Skinner stroked through his hair and down the side of his face, he turned his head to kiss the palm. Skinner held his chin. 

"Let go, John," he said quietly. 

Oh God... Doggett briefly closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Skinner's hand as it slid down his neck and onto his chest. A fingernail scraped over his nipple, making him wimper. He opened his eyes and looked questioningly at Skinner. The other man nodded. 

"I'm ready... Come." 

With a couple of instinctive jerks, Doggett's hips pumped his body into Skinner's, forcing his balls up tight and wrenching a small cry from his throat. From behind his screwed-up eyes, he felt Skinner's body tighten around him, heard a vauge sound echoing his own and a sudden warmth between their bellies told him what he needed to know. He let go. 

* * *

chapter 25. 

The first glance was the hardest, Doggett thought, as he bit into his toast. Coming into the kitchen and finding his father already up and starting the breakfast had almost been enough to make him slink out the back door, except Skinner had been two steps behind him and had blocked his exit. 

On reflection, though, perhaps it was a good thing. Skinner had greeted his father as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before, making his own quiet 'hello' seem more natural. The consumption of hot coffee and French Toast gave the conversation a direction of sorts, Skinner and his father comparing methods like a couple of... Doggett grinned into his breakfast. He was going to say like a couple of old queers, but all things considered... He stuffed more toast in to keep the laughter at bay. 

"Go easy on that, son. You'll choke." 

Doggett looked up. His father sat cradling his mug, an amused expression on his face. Swallowing, Doggett intended to tell his father he was big enough to be able to feed himself quite happily, thank you very much, but the food went down awkwardly, wedging in his throat. He coughed, eyes watering, clamping his hand over his mouth to stop his breakfast flying all over the kitchen. 

"Won't be told," Jack said, shaking his head. 

"Not where food's concerned," Skinner agreed, pounding on Doggett's back. 

"Always been the same way," Jack said. "Bull-headed, stubborn and contrary." 

Coughing and spluttering, Doggett hadn't got the breath to argue, he just glared at his father through bleary eyes. 

"I know what you mean," Skinner said, chuckling. He changed to a firm rub between Doggett's shoulder-blades. 

"Always charging off about something or other." 

Doggett turned his red face to Skinner, outraged at the turn of conversation. 

"Got a temper, that's for sure." Jack shook his head. "Gets that from his mother, poor boy." He chuckled. "All he got from me were the blue eyes and these appalling things." He tugged his ears, pulling a woeful face. 

Doggett felt Skinner's hand fall still on his back. 

"No. I think he got more than that from you, Jack." 

Doggett and his father both looked at him. 

Skinner nodded. "He got your loving nature." 

Shit. Doggett felt his mouth fall open. He shut it and swallowed the last of his toast. Damn! His father was staring too, his nose in his old blue mug. 

"Well..." He seemed lost for words. 

Doggett wasn't surprised. He was pretty much out of things to say, himself. 

Jack frowned. "I don't know quite what to say, Walt." 

Skinner shrugged. "I don't expect you to say anything. " 

Doggett wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Skinner had really knocked him on his ass. He wondered if what Skinner had said, embarrassed his father. He wasn't altogether quite sure how it made him feel. 

"Walt..." he started. 

Skinner held his hand up. "Don't you start. I didn't say that to pick a fight with you." 

He raised his eyebrows. "Like I told you yesterday, I call it like I see it." 

"But..." 

"No 'buts' Doggett. Be told." 

Doggett closed his mouth. Fair enough. Maybe Skinner was right. He was about a lot of things. He turned to see how his dad was taking it. 

Jack was regarding the pair of them much the way he had the night before, silent, tennis-match style, back and forth. Skinner resumed his meal as Jack drained his mug and set it down. He had that 'I'm gonna say something' look on his face. Doggett mentally braced himself. 

"You know..." His father started to say. "I can't say I wasn't taken by surprise by all this... Hell..." He shook his head, smiling. 

"You more or less knocked me on my ass with the whole thing." 

Doggett felt himself blushing. 

"But you know what?" Doggett looked up at his father, wondering what was coming next. 

Jack pointed at Skinner, wagging his finger. "You're good for him." 

"I like to think so," Skinner said, putting his hand back on Doggett's shoulder. 

"You don't take any crap." Jack smiled. "I like that." 

Skinner laughed. "I've become real good at detecting bullshit, Mr Doggett." 

Jack chuckled. "I'll bet." 

"Hey..." Doggett leaned back in his chair, a smile threatening. "You two wanna cut me a break?" 

He looked at the two of them, shaking his head, half of him wondering how he managed to get the pair of them pushing up against him, the other half pathetically gratefully things weren't pushing the other way. 

"Oh, stop your belly-achin'," Jack told him, getting up from the table for a refill. He glanced over his shoulder. "Or I'll set your mother on you." 

Doggett looked at him, trying to fathom that comment. 

"I take it Betty is having a lie-in." Skinner said, saving him from thinking of something nice to say. 

"You could say that," Jack replied. "I guess she's taken to her bed for a while." He shrugged, not adding anything else. 

Taken to her bed... Doggett snorted. Sulking, big-time, more like. 

"Yeah, right," he said, pushing his plate away. 

His father looked at him. "She'll come round, son. Give her time." Doggett looked at him. 

"You sure 'bout that? Seems to me she was real mad." 

Jack shrugged. "It'll pass." 

Doggett shook his head. Was this how the man stayed married all these years? By being accepting and so goddammed calm? It was more than he could do, given his father's position. 

"You think I should go talk to her?" 

"Better not. Just leave her to stew. She'll see sense." 

Skinner began to gather up the plates, one-handed. "Your father knows her best, John. Take his advice." 

Doggett stood and took the plates from him. 

"Yes, boss." He smiled, to take any sting from the words, mock flinching as Skinner aimed a blow at him. 

"Funny." 

"I like to think so," Doggett said, stacking the dishwasher. 

He looked up as his father rose from the table. "What time do you want to get off?" 

Doggett's eyebrow started to climb, until he realised what his father meant. 

"Oh, I guess pretty soon, don't you think, Walt." 

Skinner nodded. "I'd like us to get a good run at the journey. Don't want to spend any more time in motels than strictly necessary." He grimaced. 

Jack nodded. "Sure. It's a ways, DC." He nodded to Doggett. 

"Why don't you go get the bags, son. I'll keep Walt company." 

Eyes narrowing with what was a blatant ploy to get rid of him, Doggett nodded slowly. 

"Okay," He moved to the doorway. "I won't be a minute." 

* 

Despite taking the stairs two at a time, when Doggett returned to the kitchen, he was convinced something had transpired between the two men standing by the sink. not a shred of evidence, but he was convinced, all the same. They were standing looking at one another, like they had a secret or something. 

"Hey," he said, announcing his return. Both sets of eyes met his. Well, at least it didn't look like they'd been arguing, he thought, dumping the two bags. 

"That was quick," Skinner grinned. 

Doggett shrugged. "Some of us are still in one piece, fat ass." 

"John..." 

Doggett turned to his dad, smiling. "Hey, it's a term of endearment, Pa." 

His dad grunted. 

Skinner leaned towards the older man. "I'll get my own back, don't you worry." 

"You see you do," Jack told him, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"Well then..." Doggett looked around the kitchen. It didn't look like his mother was going to put in an appearance. No great surprise. They might as well get away. 

"We'd best be off, then," he suggested, looking at Skinner, who nodded agreement. 

"It's been a real pleasure, Jack," Skinner said, turning to the older man, holding his hand out. 

"Pleasure's mine, Walt. You come back anytime, y'hear?" The two men shook hands. 

A sense of wonder and relief crept over Doggett as he watched the exchange. It could have been worse. It could have been so much worse. If his father had taken the view his mother held, then their time here would have been much briefer and a hell of a lot more painful. Thank heaven for small wonders. Maybe the old man wasn't so bad. 

Skinner moved towards the door, picking up the smaller of the two bags. 

"I'll take this one, being as I'm so old and fat and unfit," he smirked. 

Doggett grinned. "You do that." He moved to take the other bag. 

"John." 

Doggett paused at his father's voice, hand over the handle, he looked up. 

"Uh-huh?" 

Jack walked over to him and Doggett straightened up. 

"You take care, now." His father told him, holding his hand out. 

Reaching out to shake it, Doggett smiled. "I will." 

The hand was dry, rough in well-worn patches. Doggett looked down at the hand held in his. He knew practically every callous on this hand. His father had used it to tan his hide on more occasions than he cared to remember. He was surprised to see it wasn't the same shape as it used to when it made the skin of his ass sing. Arthritis had bent and twisted the knuckles into angry knots. Doggett doubted whether his father would be keen to try slapping anyone with it nowadays. Just as well he'd outgrown hidings. 

His eyes moved up to look his dad in the face, still a little bothered that the old man was a good three or four inches shorter than he remembered. 

"Well..." he said. "That's it then." 

"I guess so," Jack replied. "I'm sorry your mother didn't feel up to seeing you off." 

Doggett shrugged. "Whatever. I'll call in a few weeks, see how things are." 

"That's probably best," Jack nodded. "Give her a few weeks." 

Doggett turned to the door where Skinner waited. It was a shame his mother was going to miss out on the usual goodbye kiss, but hell, that was her choice. He hesitated. She might not want to deal with who he was, but somone else didn't mind. He turned back to his father. 

"Hey." 

An identical pair of blue eyes looked questioningly at him. 

"Thanks," Doggett said, nodding. "Thanks for everything, dad." 

Jack reached up and scratched his neck, a movement that almost made Doggett smile with its familiarity. The way he kept seeing himself, was kind of freaky. 

"It's... er," He cleared his throat. "Whatever, son." 

He was about as good at accepting compliments as his son. That really did make Doggett smile. 

"No. I mean it. Thanks." 

He glanced over to Skinner, standing patiently. With sudden certainty, Doggett stepped forward to put his arms around his dad, pulling him into a hug that he didn't think they'd shared since he was in Grade school. He felt the shoulders stiffen in surprise, then relax as Jack reached up and hugged him back. 

It had been so long since they'd done this, that he didn't recognise his father's scent at all, there was just the predicatble hint of hay, motor oil and soap. He thought maybe he'd remember it, for next time he did this. 

"You take care of yourself, Daddy," he said, pulling away. With mad impulse, he bent and kissed the cheek nearest him, absolutely certain that was something he hadn't done since Grade school. 

Straightening up, he was slightly surprised that there was no comment about the embrace. He thought it worthy of at least one wise-crack. Something along the lines of the whole 'guys-kissing-guys' thing, but no. His dad just stood there. Looking at him. Yeah, well, that was more his thing, anyway. Not saying much. That was okay. One kiss wasn't going to change the world, let alone the way the two of them were around each other, it just felt nice to be able do it. 

Doggett cleared his throat. 

"Okay, then. We should get off, I reckon. See if we can't beat some of the traffic." Hefting the bag from the floor, Doggett reached for the door and shoved it open. 

"See you soon, okay?" 

Jack nodded. "Yeah. That'd be good." 

Ushering Skinner out into the dusty sunlight, Doggett helped him throw the bag in the back and held the door for him while he settled in the passenger seat. 

Turning to look at the house, he caught the twitch of the upstairs curtain out of the corner of his eye. So. She was watching, after all. Doggett raised his hand and waved as the curtain dropped back. He was surprised he didn't feel angry, but there was nothing but a small feeling of resignation. Perhaps he'd outgrown her ability to tie him in little knots with her behaviour.. He hoped so. 

He climbed into the driver's seat and leaving the door hanging open, leaned out and smiled. 

"Good luck," he said, raising his eyes up towards the bedroom window. 

Jack grinned back, nodding. 

"I reckon I'm gonna need it," he chuckled. 

"Bye," Skinner called from the other side of the truck. As his dad lifted a hand in salute, Doggett pulled the door shut and gunned the engine. He could still see the old man in the rear-view, standing in a cloud of dust, waving, as they turned out of the drive and onto the main road. 

* * *

chapter 26. 

They'd been driving for about three hours before Doggett cracked. He reached for the CD and killed Johnny 99, mid-verse. 

"Okay. I give up." 

Skinner turned to look at him. "About what?" 

"Dad." 

Skinner smiled. "What about him?" 

Squeezing the steering wheel, Doggett sighed. 

"I know you and he talked about me when I got the bags." He turned and flashed Skinner a glance. "C'mon. Give." 

The picture of innocence smiled back. "What d'you mean?" 

"Skinner..." 

"You're paranoid, Doggett. What makes you think..." 

"Walt..." 

Laughing at the tone of voice, Skinner nodded. "Okay, okay." Glancing out of the window, he pointed to a picnic area. "Pull over." 

"Just tell me, okay? We don't need to stop." 

Skinner nodded. "Humour me." 

Checking the mirror and indicating, Doggett pulled into the side and put the truck in 'park'. 

"Okay. Spill it. What did you and Mister Chatty have to say to one another?" 

"Turn it off." Skinner nodded at the engine. 

Sighing heavily, Doggett obeyed and turned in his seat to face the other man. 

"Satisfied?" 

"Yes, thank you." 

They sat and looked at one another, but nothing else was forthcoming, so Doggett sighed again. 

"Skinner..." he began, pausing as Skinner held up his hand. 

"He told me to wait until we'd gone too far to go back." 

Doggett frowned. "What d'you mean?" 

"Too far for us to turn back to the house." 

Doggett shook his head. "Make sense, Skinner. Why would we need to go back?" 

Instead of replying, Skinner reached into his jeans pocket and pulled a small parcel of cloth out. He held it our to Doggett. 

"He wanted you to have this." 

"What is it?" He made no move to take it. 

Skinner held it nearer. "Take it and find out." 

Reaching for the parcel, Doggett frowned. What was all this? He pulled the edges of the cloth aside, halting as a sudden flash of colour caught his eye. Lying hidden in the folds of the soft leather was his father's pocket watch. 

"What the hell...?" 

Lifting it up, Doggett stared at the watch, its casing worn bright with years of polishing, the light chain running through his fingers like water. He looked at Skinner, questions on his lips. 

"He asked me to give it to you when we got far enough away." 

Doggett looked back at the watch. When Doggett was a little boy, his dad had told him that his grandfather had sold the family truck to buy it, he was so glad his only son had survived his wounds. It was his dad's most precious possession. He never went anywhere without it. He looked up at Skinner. 

"Why?" 

"He didn't want you to refuse to take it. Or bring it back." 

Doggett stared at the watch. The engraving was almost worn away, but he knew the old inscription by heart. 

'To my beloved son John, with much love, father.' 

He ran his thumb over the faint words, lost for any of his own. 

"He said to tell you that it's yours, now. That he should have given it to you years ago." 

Doggett turned the watch over in his hand, a million memories of his dad tumbling around in his head. The good ones, the real bad ones and even more, fitting somewhere in between. Skinner put his hand on Doggett's shoulder. 

"You okay?" 

Doggett looked up and smiled. "Yeah. I am." 

"Yeah?" 

Nodding, Doggett re-wrapped the watch carefully and slipped it in his shirt pocket. 

"Yeah. I'm good." 

He smiled and ran his hand over Skinner's cheek, mindful of the bruises, then kissed him softly. 

"Let's go home." 

the end. 

* * *

The Letters TMI .........by Forbes. 

Author's notes: Okay. That's it. Hope you enjoyed it. This story happened because Georgia wanted to see how Doggett's parents might react to the news and also after a conversation with Amokeh about Doggett showing Mulder the meaning of control. Gosh - it's funny how little snippets of conversation make the plot-bunnies breed! 

Bye for now, love Forbes. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to forbes 


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